


Run to Paradise

by angrylizardjacket (ephemeralstar)



Series: this must be just like living in paradise [1]
Category: The Dirt (2019), The Dirt: Confessions of the World's Most Notorious Rock Band Book - Mötley Crüe & Neil Strauss
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Blood, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon-Typical Behavior, Cheating, Childhood Trauma, Drinking, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Love Confessions, Mental Breakdown, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Overdosing, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Revenge, Sex Is Not The Enemy, Sort of? - Freeform, Threesome - F/F/M, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Voyeurism, cross posted fuckin everywhere don't @ me, ear piercing with a staple gun gone v wrong, eventual polyamory, leave my ass olone this is My wish fulfilment oc fic, rockstars and roadies, the abuse is mentioned it isn't in the actual story, we did it, we got there, we've officially got polyamory folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2020-02-29 13:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 27
Words: 84,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18779194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralstar/pseuds/angrylizardjacket
Summary: Nikki and Lola met before they were Nikki and Lola, before Motley Crue, before they were even eighteen; they were just two shitty teenagers, looking to escape their shitty childhoods. So together they turn into shitty adults, and then celebrities, and in amongst the fame and fortune and fucking, Lola has to prove she can keep up with the guys, and she's never one to back down from a challenge.





	1. roll with the punches and come back with a dragon punch

Lola didn't start out as Lola. Lola started out as a nobody, as Kate Fields, sixteen and finally with enough money to start a life of her own; three hundred bucks and a backpack full of granola bars. Except it doesn't work out like she hopes -  _it never does_ \- and she shows up to the group home with bruises on her face and arm, and a large burn on her back, voice hoarse from screaming until her neighbours finally called the cops. She doesn't have her money, her food, or her bag, not after that night. The night she doesn't talk about.

She meets Frankie at the group home, Frankie who's seventeen, a year from getting out, with a scar on his arm that he won't talk about, who stays out past curfew, who turns up his music when the orderlies tell him to turn it down. He smiles sharp, comes back late at nights smelling like booze and cigarette smoke, but not in the way that makes her recoil.

"Where'd you go?" She's the only one still awake, still can't get to sleep easily so she doesn't even try, sitting on a sofa in the common room, reading beneath the lamp light. Frank, who's swaggering into the room like his balance  _isn't quite right_ , flops beside her on the sofa, wraps an arm around her shoulders. A hiss escapes her, his arm resting against the healing burns on her back.

"Can't say," he taps his ear knowingly, "can't let the ladies here know where I go, you know?" He snickered, and she grimaces as she moves out of his grip. 

"Classy," she rolled her eyes, standing, adjusting the neck of her shirt so the fabric sat off the burn. He hums thoughtfully, head tipping to the side as he watches her stand a little uncomfortably, as if deciding whether she should bite the bullet and head to bed.

"You haven't been here long, have you, Katie?"

"Gross, don't call me Katie." She snaps reflexively, to which he nods sagely. "Or Kate, I'm sick of hearing that fucking name; all the ladies here remind me of her when they say it. You know what, it doesn't even matter, call me whatever, ' _hey you_ ' does fine." She's off on her own little tangent, scowling at the last memory of her mother she keeps; the name that bitch left her. Thank god she looks more like her father or she knows she'd cut off her own nose to spite her face. 

"I don't think you can go by ' _hey you_ '," Frank grins, and her eyes flick up to meet his. He's making himself more comfortable, pulling the knitted rug off the back of sofa to cover himself, despite the fact that he's got his own bunk in the next room. 

"I can go by whatever I want." She huffs, turning her nose up at him, turning on her heel and heading to bed. She still can't get to sleep, laying on her back to avoid her burns, turning his words over in her mind, over and over like a mantra until she's got a name in mind and she's finally drifted off.

When she's woken the next morning, it's to the ladies calling her ' _Katie_ ', as usual, but the name still grates on her mind, and Frank is awake, scowling, holding a glass of water, a blanket wrapped around him as breakfast takes place in another room close by.

"Lola." She stands in front of him, and he glares up at her, nose wrinkling a little.

"What?"

"You said I couldn't go by ' _hey you_ ', so  _Lola_." She says it with an air of finality, and his face scrunches up even more.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, and Lola's a stripper name," he yawns and proceeds to take a long drink of water, finishing off the cup. It's Lola's turn to frown.

"Do you  _know_ any strippers named Lola?" She asks, and they glare at each other for a very long moment, but he doesn't answer. "Will you tell me where you went last night?"

"No. Fuck off." He goes to take another sip, but seems to remember it's empty. Lola kicks him in the shin.

"Happy hangover, asshole!" She shouts, much to his loud groan of pain, curling back up onto the sofa as she storms away to get breakfast.

"Bitch!" He calls back. 

So it comes as a surprise when he's halfway out the bathroom window the following Friday night, and she's standing there, as if waiting, arms crossed.

"The fuck do you want?" He asks, frowning, one foot still on the counter by the sink.

"I want to go with you." It doesn't sound like she's asking. "I can't fucking stand it here; the constant pity, the worry," she takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, "you're seeing a band right, last week, you smell like you've seen a band, or stepped foot in a pub at least; I want that. Your taste in music isn't shit. I want that." Frank frowns, climbs slowly out of the window to join her by the side of the building, and he looks her over. 

"Not looking like that," and she wanted to protest at that, but he rolled his eyes, "I have a friend who can get you something that makes you look less like a kid." And with that, they set off, Frank a little beleaguered, and Lola, for the first time since getting to the group home almost a month ago now, is a little bit excited.

"You're  _not_ that much older than me," she complains anyways, and Frank smirks at her. The smug look worked upsettingly well on him. Lola doesn't dwell on it.

"Lola," it's the first time anyone's actually used her new name, and it sends a shiver down her spine; she can't help but grin, "you look twelve; you're not dressed for a concert, trust me." And okay, maybe he had a point, maybe all she had thought to go out in was a blue puffer jacket over a pair of jeans and plain shirt, both a bit too big for her, but all she really had in the group home. She wasn't afforded a lot of choices nowadays.

The ' _friend_ ' is a woman in her mid-twenties who opens the door with a cigarette in hand, who kisses Frank on both cheeks and pets Lola on the head when she's introduced. Her name's Nadine, she doesn't ask questions, and she offers her closet to Lola without hesitation.

"This your first concert, honey?" Nadine asks, rifling through her closet for clothes that would fit and suit the teenager. Before Lola can even answer, Nadine's throwing ripped jeans onto the bed and turning around with a sweet smile, "where're my manners; you want a beer? Something to drink?"

Lola is quiet for a very long moment, brow creased in thought before she meets Nadine's gaze, testing her luck.

"Vodka?" 

Nadine laughs, loud and bright, and takes another drag of her cigarette. "Sure, sweetheart, I think I've got some in the cupboard; let's get you dressed first though." She's nice, much nicer than Lola knows she deserves, and when the teen asks why, shimmying into a pair of black, ripped jeans that are fitting surprisingly well, Nadine's answer comes out softer than expected on the other side of the bathroom door. "Frank and my little brother were in a band together, and since Joe's moved away, I help out Frank where I can." 

"He was in a band?" 

"Most definitely, now how is that outfit looking?" She asks, and Lola pulls the Queen crop top over her head, looking at herself in the grimy mirror. There's a new confidence in clothes so different from the ones she'd been wearing for almost a month now; she looks good, and as much as she hates to admit it, older.

" _We're gonna miss the opening act, Lola!_ " Frank calls from where Lola assumes is the living room, and she bursts from the bathroom with a grin.

"You'll be fine," Nadine assures, pleased when she looks over Lola and her outfit, but when Lola gives a twirl, her expression darkens; "what happened there?" And she's reaching to Lola's hip, her fingers brushing against the mostly healed burn scar that was visible on her lower back, but in fact covered her whole back. 

"Nothing." Lola snaps, and Nadine's hand retracts like she's the one who's been burned, smile tight for a moment. "Vodka?" Lola's voice softens a little, reflexively apologetic for snapping, and Nadine smiles again.

"I think we could all use some."

Frank's sitting on the sofa, his beer held tight between his knees while he fixes his eyeliner in the reflection of a little hand mirror, which he closes when Nadine reenters the room with Lola in tow. When he catches sight of her, for the barest moment, he's speechless.

"Vodka, Frank?" Nadine asks, and he nods automatically, taking his beer and having another sip.

"You need to rough your hair up a bit more," is his only comment on Lola's outfit, and it's her turn to smirk, despite her confusion. "If you can't do the Farrah Fawcett thing, you gotta mess it up." He explains. Lola obligingly tips her head upside down and runs her hands through her long, brown hair messily, flipping back up when Nadine calls them both over.

She chokes on the shot, and Frank laughs, and she takes another shot and chokes less, and Nadine looks a little proud, and the world is already turning a little hazy at the edges by the time they leave Nadine's. 

The bar lets them in without carding them; the guy at the door nods at Frank like he knows him, and Frank tells her the bar doesn't card. Lola's a little hesitant; it's not like she's buying any drinks, she's got no money, didn't even think she'd get this far. But then Frank's leaving to talk to the band who's setting up, and Lola feels like she's been thrown in the deep end, but doesn't want to be a bother, and heads to look around.

The courtyard is cool enough, both in atmosphere and literal temperature, and a cute boy with curly, blonde hair offers her a cigarette, which she takes. She's smoked a few times before, but has been clean since coming to the group home, and the moment the nicotine hits her lungs it feels like a hug, a welcome home. It must read on her face, because the boy laughs, not unkindly, and asks her how long it's been. He's older than her, but only by a few years she's guessing.

He buys her a drink when they head back inside because the band's started playing, and Frank finally finds her again, he even looks a little worried. Something about that makes Lola smile, a little catty, but mostly pleased. The boy from the courtyard has his arm around her, but he's talking to the bartender.

"Don't worry, Frank, you got me here, I can handle myself."

And maybe he looks a little proud at her assuredness, tells her that he'll let her know when he's heading off but she doesn't need to join him if she doesn't want to, and Lola grins back, nodding, leaning into the other guy when he turns back with her drink. 

In retrospect, Lola will be equal parts proud and absolutely disgusted to give her first blowjob at sixteen to a stranger in the filthy bathroom of a bar that doesn't card, and despite the fact that she doesn't  _tell_ Frank what happened when they walk back to the group home together, he's grinning like he knows.

"Stop looking at me like that." She's been bright red since they'd left, even though the act happened much earlier in the night. The moment the other guy had come, he'd zipped up his pants, kissed her on the cheek, and apologised that he'd had to leave since he had an early start the next morning.

"Like what?" Frank's grinning like the fucking Cheshire Cat, still reasonably drunk, Lola just turns redder, if possible.

"Shut up."

He grins wider.

"I'm glad you came along for the ride," he admits, and at that, Lola lets herself smile a little.

"I did have fun," she half laughs, quietly, and Frank wraps an arm around her, giving a squeeze.

" _Yeah_ you did." After a beat, he's quiet, and Lola looks up at his through narrowed eyes; Frank licks his lips, expression amused, "you weren't in there long." Lola shoves him hard, and he stumbles away from her, laughing his fucking head off. "I'm just saying, either that's his fault, or maybe you have something to be proud of."

"Yeah, wouldn't you like to know," Lola snipes back, nose in the air, arms crossed, and Frank snorts.

"The night  _is_  young, Lola, babe, if you're offering, of course," he concedes, eyes shining with mirth in the moonlight, and Lola splutters for an answer. Then, as her frown deepens and she comes to a halt, looking at Frank like she's analysing him, like she finds something she likes, her eyebrow quirks. 

"Can you get me smokes inside the home?" She asks, and Frank's eyebrows shoot up; she's actually considering it, giving it a price.

"Seriously?"

"I mean, I'm free to make my own dumbass decisions out here, aren't I? And I didn't hate it the first time," she's fixed him with an amused smile, arms crossed and hip cocked, and something about her proposal, her in those clothes, the alcohol in his veins, he's tempted. Very tempted.

"You're drunk," he frowns, and Lola takes a step towards him, confidence radiating off of her.

"You're  _drunker_  and you're turning down a blowjob; how stingy are you about your smokes?" Her gaze, like her words, was sharp, and Frank didn't back down, stepping up to meet her; she's a good deal shorter than him, though most people are, but she doesn't back down. There's a single moment in time where he knows so clearly that he could just take her by the shoulders and lead her back to the home, forget this ever happened and refuse to take her out again. But he's already made his decision, and she seems to know this. The alcohol makes her confident, she loops a finger through one of his belt loops and gives him a challenging smile; it was surprisingly hot. He didn't know she had it in her. He didn't know she had any of this in her. Not that he's complaining.

"Find us an alley and I'll get you a pack by Sunday."


	2. early 80s, right before children became special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things progress between lola and nikki, an opportunity arises and is taken, and the future is contemplated

Though none of the weekends that follow are quite as exciting as her first night of freedom, Lola grows excited for each and every one, and Frank doesn't seem to be growing tired of her company, so she takes it as a win. In fact, they grow close, much to the exasperation and slight terror of the women running the group home.

"Get out of my bed," Frank comes back from the shower with his hair still wet, only wearing a pair of jeans, only to find Lola trying to discretely smoke behind a newspaper. It's been almost three whole months since that first night, and Lola's almost seventeen, and for the first time she feels like she has her whole life ahead of her.

"No way, you're by the window," she pointedly leans back, breathing a lungful of smoke through the mesh.

"Just smoke outside," he snaps, pulling himself up the ladder to sit by her, scowling, before shaking his head like a dog, flicking water all over her.

"It's cold outside, you  _asshole_!" She fired back around the cigarette in her mouth, smacking him with the paper, unable to shield herself in time from the water he flicks on her, settling for this instead. In retaliation, Frank takes the cigarette from her lips and takes a drag, reaching across Lola to flick the ashes into the empty can she'd been using as an impromptu ash tray.

"Anything interesting?" He flicks the paper before putting the cigarette into Lola's waiting grip. After a beat, he leans over to the window to blow out the smoke, and Lola hums.

"I wouldn't know," she dismisses the question without any preamble, before grinning, turning to Frank, "who's playing tonight? They any good?" And she's shooting for casual, and failing pretty miserably. He drags out the moment, part of him likes to see her squirm, before finally shrugging, admitting he doesn't know the band. This isn't the answer she was looking for, and it shows on her face, the way her nose wrinkles and her lips turn down in a frown, and she stubs out the last remaining embers of the cigarette before putting the butt in the can itself and pushing the can to the corner of the bed. 

"You complaining? You don't have to come," he offers, but Lola's only response is to flop dramatically onto the bed.

"God, of course I'll go," she paused for a moment, "how are you not wearing a shirt, it's fucking freezing, the window's open." She tossed the paper to the ground and rested her hands behind her head, gaze focused on the ceiling, pointedly not looking at Frank.

"I'm cold blooded, I don't feel it," she can hear him smirking, and without warning, she sits up, reaching out and taking his arm, running her thumb over the goosebumps forming there. 

"Dirty fuckin' liar," she grins back at him, even as he flips the script, pulls her close and wraps an arm around her. It's easy contact, familiar, and Lola leans into it a little, one hand still holding his wrist, 

"You run warm enough," he grinned, and there's an answer on the tip of her tongue, just behind her grin-

"God, you two are damn ferals; get away from each other,  _no touching_ ," one of ladies who runs the home spots them on her way through to the laundry, and sounds as if she's already tired of whatever interaction this is about to yield.

"You gonna get the hose again?" Lola spits back, scrambling to her knees, leaning on the railing at the edge of the bunk bed, looking every bit as irritated and feral as the woman accused her of. Even so, the woman can see Frank's amused smirk, but not how he's looped a finger through one of Lola's belt loops, a quiet reminder to not pitch herself off the bed by accident.

"You bet I will!" She snapped, "if you two are within a foot of each other when I come back I'll spray you both." The woman warned, storming off to the laundry.

"Fuckin' bitch," Lola huffed, sitting back, practically on Frank this time when he tugs her backwards, " _no touching_ ," she parrots back before scoffing derisively, even a Frank laughs low and amused, reaching around to cup one of her boobs through her shirt in blatant defiance. It doesn't seem to phase Lola, who just sulks, leans a little bit close to him. He moves away first, climbing down and pulling on his shirt and a jacket, rattling off Nadine's promise of dinner as he's fastening his shoelaces; it's enough to distract Lola from her anger, and the two of them have disappeared from the building within minutes, on their way to Nadine's place, as they often went before seeing a gig.

After that first night, casual sexual contact became almost like a form of currency between them, for cigarettes, to borrow records, occasionally for caps or weed, sometimes just for candy, and sometimes when she's feeling especially drunk and sappy, Lola's on her knees in a bathroom stall as a thanks for taking her out in the first place. And it's still that, still a transaction, but then Lola gets fed up with a club early, despite Frank having promised the band he'd stay to the end to discuss potentially joining them. She whining, tipsy, think's the music's shit -  _it is, their bass player is being replaced for a reason, but that's besides the point_ \- and he's sick of it.

"Since you're so fucking tense," and she's in shorts tonight, high waisted and black and denim, not ideal. But then she's on the counter, leaning back against the side of the mirror with his hand cramping beneath her fly as she rolls her hips in time with his fingers, gasping and whimpering as she tries to keep quiet. 

"You gonna calm the fuck down? Not gonna fuck this up for me, alright?" And like an asshole, he asks her right as she's on the edge, and the moment she agrees, whispered agreements tumbling from her lips, back arching, she comes hard, arms trembling a little where she's holding herself up on the counter.

"Jesus, yeah, fine, I'll stop complaining," she huffs as she finally comes back to herself, trying to prop herself up further, trying to do something, anything to make herself look more presentable, though the effect is ruined a little by her hard breathing and flushed cheeks. Frank's playing at serious where he's washing his hands in the sink beside her, but she can tell he's a little pleased with himself. "Don't act so smug, it's not cute." 

"I'm not trying to be cute, Lo," and there's something like a warning in his voice, but Lola's only response is to grin mischievously and hop from the counter. They take a few moments to look at themselves in the mirror, through the dim, grimy overhead light. Lola tucks her shirt back into her shorts and ties up her hair to hide how messy the back had gotten, and it's quiet, subtle, but they both know there's been a change, a shift in dynamic. 

Call it teenage rebellion, call it two runaways trying to make a connection, call it whatever you want; it's not so easily definable. Lola doesn't say it, but to her it's a  _fuck you_  to the puritanical prison in which she was raised, it's taking back control of her own body, of her own life, and she liked Frank well enough, liked his taste in music and in people and the way he would smile. He's unlike any friend she'd been allowed before, and she's willing to do whatever it takes to keep him around.

So today, they leave before the woman from the home can catch them, before the front doors are locked for the night, before the sun's fully submerged beneath the horizon. Frank complains about not having a car, making some vague declaration that it's the first thing he'd get once he started earning some cash of his own, and Lola shoves him, laughing a ' _sure, whatever helps you sleep at night_ ', and he shoves her right back, but he's grinning.

Nadine bought pizza, and Lola gives back the skirt she'd been wearing the week before for a pair of leather pants, and Frank won't stop smiling and neither he nor Nadine will tell Lola why.

"It's a surprise," is all Nadine says, "now eat your dinner, I slaved for minutes over a phone ordering that for you." She jokes, grinning sharply, and Lola rolls her eyes and shoves another piece of four cheese pizza in her mouth.

They're early to one of the pubs they usually frequent, weirdly early,  _suspiciously;_ they arrive at the same time the band does, and Lola's halfway through telling him that they should at least hang out at Nadia's until the band's due to  _start_ , but he's already making a beeline for the station wagon piled high with equipment.

"Took your sweet fuckin' time, Ferranna," one of the band members yells, and Frank's replying with an easy banter as he helps lift an amp, and it's here that Lola recognises the band from a few weeks ago.

"Lo, give us a hand, will ya?" Frank nods to where a few guitar cases were sitting in the trunk of the car, but Lola cocks her hip and crosses her arm, affixing him with an unamused stare.

"Do I look like your fucking roadie?" She asks, and Frank rolls his eyes.

"Come on, I'll owe you," and though usually Lola would jump at the prospect, she's not about to help some random band because Frank feels like being a good samaritan for the first time in his life. She grinds her heel into the gravel of the road and shifts her weight to her other foot. She doesn't move. "Alright, fine, I'm playing with them tonight; this is Sister, we saw them a few weeks ago." He paused, grunting as he hands off the amp to one of the other band members inside the club. 

"Hey, kid," one of the other band members slams the door of the car, glaring at them over the roof, "if you're girlfriend's gonna just stand there looking bitchy, tell her she can do that inside-"

"Tell me yourself, asshole, I'm right here," Lola snaps, and though Frank looks at her like she's giving him a headache, she begrudgingly takes a guitar case from the back, "and I'm not his fucking girlfriend."

"I don't give a shit; be careful with that." The other band member snaps. 

Frank moves to get the other case out of the back, rolling his eyes at Lola's stormy expression as she stalks past him, but then she stops, looks over her shoulder at him and her expression actually softens.

"What?" He frowns.

"It is actually pretty cool that you got the gig," Lola gives him a grin, pride blossoming in her chest as she takes in his surprisingly pleased smile, "but you still owe me." 

"Yeah, what a  _chore_ ," she knows without even looking at him that he's smiling, rolling his eyes, with sarcasm practically dripping from his words as he hefts the other guitar case from the back, following her inside. She helps bring in a milk crate full of cables, and a parcan, and sits herself at the bar at the back of the room as the band starts setting up, and doing sound checks. The night's still young, and she's still learning the ropes, but she knows from looking around that no-one at the bar is drunk enough yet to either leave their drink unattended, or buy  _her_ a drink, so she settles for taking a sip from the flask Nadine had furnished her with, wrinkling her nose at the taste of cheap vodka.

The band sounds so much better than the first time, and in her mind, Lola attributes it all to Frank. And maybe it's the pride, the excitement, or the alcohol, but by the second set she's dancing with the rest of the girls who've formed a mosh pit. The lights are bright, and a haze of smoke in the air and then there's a guy in the crowd with his hands on her hips, and she moves along with him, and in time with the rhythm of the bass she can feel in her chest. He buys her a drink and another and another and she wishes the men's bathroom of a random dingy club wasn't as familiar as it had came to be. 

The man doesn't know her name and she doesn't know his, but he knows he wants to fuck her, and she knows that if she blows him, she'll probably get another drink and not need to go all the way. He's satisfied, calls her an angel and doesn't see her roll her eyes, or her own self satisfied smirk when she asks for another drink and he's all but tripping over his words to comply. A transaction complete.

And she keeps dancing, and loses the guy in the crowd, and hangs with the band between sets, smoking by the bar, and the singer, who had yelled at her earlier, apologises. She just grins, shrugs it off, and proceeds to steal a sip from Frank's rum and coke.

By the end of the night she's exhausted, and looking forward to flopping into her own bed, brimming with joy at watching Frank perform; she'd known he could play  _in theory_ , but had never had the opportunity to see it in person. It turns out he'd been going to rehearsal for a few weeks, the band trying him out before they were fully ready to commit.

"Fully ready to commit?" Lola frowns at the wording as they walk back to the home; the band offered a lift, but even with two cars, there wasn't room for both Lola and Frank, and either way, they were used to the walk. 

"They- ah," Frank gave pause for a moment, actually hesitated, "they were only here to scout talent; I'm heading back to LA with them in about a week; they're the real deal, Lo." 

She wants to respond, wants to congratulate him, wants to ask  _what the fuck_ , but no sound is coming from her mouth. 

"Were you planning on telling me?" Is what she actually says, and when Frank laughs it's humourless. They're slowing now, almost at a stop just a few blocks from home, and the crunch of gravel beneath Lola's boots sounds  _so loud_ in her ears. So she stops. "Just gonna take off? Leave and never come back and not say shit about it beforehand?"

"Pretty much," he admits, kicking at the ground, avoiding her gaze, "I've known you for like three months, Lo, I didn't expect it to be a big deal, it's not like -" he shuts himself up, mouth snapping closed as he rolls his eyes, but Lola just raises an eyebrow, mouth pressed into a thin line, "I didn't expect you to want to come couch surfing in LA, okay? You've got Nadine here," he throws his arms out in exasperation, "I haven't got shit and you barely know me."

"Yeah, Nads is lovely, but if you leave me in that fuckin' group home knowing you ran off to be a rockstar in LA without me, I'd lose my mind." Breathing deeply, Lola took a moment to centre herself, "listen, I ain't got shit either, and it's not like you know me any better than I know you, but if you want me there I'll go. Anything's better than the pitying looks those hags give me; trust me, if we both leave it'll be like Christmas for them." 

"And what happens if we get sick of each other?" It did seem like he was seriously considering it though, giving her an appraising look.

"Then leave me on the side of the road; I'd rather be homeless in LA than pitied in this bland-ass group home; it's like the life equivalent of only ever eating oatmeal," she groaned, and at least that gets him to laugh.

"Fine, you might have to carry a light or two for the drive there, but I'll get them to squeeze you in," he assured. With that, they start walking again, and there's a new hope, new joy, new energy blooming bright in Lola's chest, an excitement for the future that's unfamiliar but not unwanted.

"Do I look like your fuckin' roadie?" Lola grins at him, warm and amused. He just smirks back, giving her a shrug.

"Starting to; you've got potential."

"Oh  _fuck that_ , shoot me if I ever become your roadie.


	3. seize the moment and stay in it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> escape to LA. done. living in a van? not exactly on the checklist. they’ll make it work.

They’re going seventy down the highway and Lola’s got her head out of the window like a dog, beaming in the sunlight with her hair streaming behind her, clutching at the parcan in her lap. The radio’s blaring Kiss and she’s can’t hear it above the wind in her ears, and Frank watches her in the mirror, out the corner of his eye, tapping to the rhythm where he’s got an arm resting on the open car window. It’s the most relaxed he’s seen her since he’s met her, the sun and the wind seems to do her a world of good. 

She’s turning seventeen in a few days, but won’t say anything; it’s not like it really matters that she celebrate it, she can tell him after the fact, but for now she doesn’t want to take away from how good it feels to be her own woman, moving to L- _fucking_ -A. Her mood isn’t even soured when they show up to where the singer had they’d be staying, and it turns out to be the equipment van with a mattress in the back, parked in front of his apartment block. The easiest bathroom to get to is the one at the gas station down the road. Frank raises an eyebrow.

“It’s the best we could do, man,” the singer, Blackie, shrugged, his gaze flicking to Lola, “we weren’t expecting-”

Lola’s hands go up in mock surrender, and she’s smiling despite the situation.

“No, this is great, it’s radical,” and she seems so genuine when she says it, climbing onto the mattress in the back, “and I’ll stay out of your hair, I promise I won’t be a problem.” It’s placating more than anything else. It’s not like she’s blind to the way the singer looks at her, the irritated gazes he flicks her way on occasion, the way he rolls her eyes at her excitement; she’s a spanner in the works, an extra body he didn’t account for, a  _leech_ on his resources and his bandmate’s time.

“I’ll get a job, I’ll keep busy,” the band are bringing their gear into the their apartment, and Lola’s so earnest as she helps carry a box of leads up the stairs. Frank gives her an amused look in lieu of a response, putting two guitar cases against the wall behind where the drumkit was already set up for rehearsals. “I’m not just gonna sit around all day, I'm  _here,_ I  _made it_ ,” and her eyes are almost sparkling, though perhaps it’s just the sunlight shining through the window. They head back to the station wagon they’d arrived in to collect the last of the supplies, or rather, Frank helped move the bass amp while Lola fretted before climbing into the back of the van and getting herself settled. 

The mattress is lumpy, the whole place smells like weed, and there’s only one pillow, but when she lays back, makes herself comfortable on the duvet, she looks  _content_. After a moment, she pulls a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, lighting one up, an almost dreamy smile on her face.

“Where’re you gonna get a job, Lo?” Frank’s leaning against the open back doors of the van, arms crossed as he gives the beaming Lola a fond smile, enjoying the sight of her joy. For a moment, she hums, considering, and she rests her hands behind her head.

“Dunno, somewhere,  _anywhere;_ city of Angels, Frank, the possibilities are endless.”

“You’re pretty optimistic for someone living in a van,” he snickered, but all she did to respond was shuffle over and pat the mattress as an invitation. It takes a beat, but he joins her, looking up at the roof of the van. They share the silence for a moment, Lola’s excitement practically radiating from her, it’s sweet, refreshing, and Frank’s starting to realise how much he enjoys seeing her smile. One hand reaches over to take the cigarette from her, to have some himself, the other hand coming to rest at the top of her thigh.

“It’s the  _middle_ of the  _afternoon_ ,” she laughs, but they both refuse to look at each other, her legs parting just a little, automatically. He breathes out a cloud of smoke.

“And?” Like it’s ever stopped them before.

“At least close the door; the whole street doesn’t deserve a show,” Lola snickers, and Frank props himself up on his elbows, grinning at her, passing the cigarette back.

“Could be your job though; Lola’s a stripper name.” He reminded her. She’s audibly indignant as he shifts up to go and close the van’s doors, and when he turns back, she’s sitting up, leaning against the back of the driver’s seat as it made up an impromptu headboard. 

“Anyways, I don’t have enough tits to be a decent stripper,” and she can sense he’s about to retaliate, a cheeky grin already spreading across his lips, but she holds up a hand, taking the moment in which he hangs on her every movement to inhale once more from the cigarette. He’s gone back to laying on the mattress, on his side, his nails grazing from her ankle to her knee and back again, “and don’t give me any bullshit, you’ve never seen them, really.”

“I can judge pretty well from -,” he grins, sharp and mischievous, reaching up to pinch at one of her boobs instead of finishing the thought, but not before she smacks his hand away, “besides, it’s not for lack of trying.” And he has a point, but Lola knows if he gets her shirt off, he’ll end up seeing her burns, will see they’re a lot  _more_ than she lets on, and he’ll ask  _questions_. She doesn’t need that. Especially in the middle of the day. She passes the cigarette to him to finish off. 

“If I’d wanted you to see them, you would have,” she sits a little straighter, refusing to meet his gaze, looking instead out the tiny, grimy back windows of the van. It hits her in that moment, where she is, who she’s with, everything that’s happened in the past few months, and for the barest second she’s worried she’s made the biggest mistake of her life. It’s one thing to leave home -  _be forced to leave home_ \- it’s another to run away from an actual safe haven, no matter how boring it seemed.

“No need to get bitchy,” Frank snapped, rolling his eyes. When he sits up, Lola feels a twinge of guilt, but she pushes it down. He’s reaching for his duffel bag and she’s contemplating leaving and maybe going for a walk will clear her mind and it’s just jitters and- “hey, it’s okay.” He’s watching where he’s lighting the end of the joint he’d pulled from the bag. “Like, if it means that much to you, I don’t really care; I don't  _get it_ , honestly, but-” with a shrug, he’s not sure how to finish, but the sentiment carries over enough that Lola feels the tightness in her chest easing. 

They hotbox the van, smoke filling the small space and easing the tension between them as Lola feels herself relaxing as the sun sinks slowly below the horizon. He’s beautiful at sunset, all golden and grinning and Lola can’t stop thinking about how she’s never actually kissed him despite everything they’ve done already and she’s teetering on the edge of changing that when there comes a knock at the door.

It’s night; stars are shining bright, like glitter, like diamonds, and Lola’s already forgotten whatever it is she was just thinking, trying to focus on whatever it is the singer’s saying. He doesn’t- he doesn’t- she can’t even get her mind around the statement- he doesn't  _like her_. He doesn't  _know_ her. She should- should- she should be  _irritated_. Maybe. About what? She can’t remember. 

Frank takes one look at her, with her eyes glazed over, where she’s swaying a little, sitting forward, and he knows there’s no way she can stand, let alone go out like Blackie’s inviting them.

“She’ll be fine, it’s been a fucking long day, she needs the sleep,” Frank assures the singer, and lets him know that he’ll be coming out. Blackie rolls his eyes at Lola and tells him they’re leaving in fifteen minutes, which to Frank is plenty of time. The doors of the van slam closed again and Lola looks to Frank.

“What?” She’s blinking slowly, trying to make sense of everything that happened, and Frank recalls something she said about how she prefers E because weed makes her weird but he never thought that she’d act like this. This wasn't  _weird_ , this was  _sleepy_ and  _lethargic_ , and he’d seen it before and he couldn’t take her out like this.

“I’m going out with the band, you should get to sleep,” and he watches her with slight amusement as she moves to him, watches as she rests a hand on his shin and she fixes her shallow, fascinated gaze on the point of contact. He lets her fingers move higher, barely feeling it through his jeans, just intrigued as she comes to rest at his knee and her grip gets tighter as she leans her weight on it, leans in close to him.

“Yeah, probably,” she agrees quietly, so close that he can see just how hazy and red her eyes are, how wide her pupils have blown. She’s so out of it that the world could come to an end around her and she wouldn’t even notice. She’s so wrapped up in the sensations, in the little details of the world around her, and now she’s practically in his lap, sitting on his thighs, so caught up with seemingly trying to analyse every little detail about him. It’s fascinating, and he’s nowhere near complaining. 

“I’m- I’m being weird,” she breathes, suddenly self aware as she makes a move to climb off of him, “weed makes me weird-  _I told you this_ ,” she scolds him gently, as if it was his fault, as if she hadn’t been smoking of her own free will. He’s not sure what set her off, but an instinctual part of doesn’t want her to move away, likes having her this close; he tells himself it’s just something about contact, about how warm she is.

“Lola,” and he rests a hand on her thigh, trying to tell her that it’s fine, that she should get some sleep, but his thumb is rubbing circles against her skin and her breath catches just a little, barely noticeable, but he doesn’t miss it. His words die in his throat as he carefully digs his nails in, just a little, and she lets out an audible ’ _oh_ ’; it turns out it makes her  _sensitive_ too. 

And god, not that this wasn't  _fascinating_ , but there’s a knock on the door and the guitarist is calling for him. 

“Sleep.” He reminds Lola, who whines as she flops back on the mattress, calling him a tease, finger fumbling with the zipper on her shorts as he steps out the back of the van. Already Frank’s regretting deciding to go out as he closes the door to the van. It’s easy not to dwell, however, when he’s high and booze soaked and listen to music he’s pretty sure is already leagues ahead of most of the stuff he’d heard in the pubs back home. The night feels raw, feels electric, feels alive; the band’s already locals at the bar, and they introduce him to the staff easily enough who grin and shake hands and take a liking to him and his look without knowing if he’s even any good. It feels like home before he’s even spent the night. It’s the right choice, the right move, without a shadow of a doubt. 

And when he gets back, keys in his pocket as he blearily unlocks the door to the van, he sees Lola, passed out, facing away from him where she’s hogging the entire pillow and most of the mattress. 

“Hey, move,” he’s gently nudging her to one side, uncoordinated where he’s trying to gently take back some of the pillow to the best of his ability. Until Lola rolls over, blinks up at him sleepily, and almost screams, “’ _s me, ’s me, ’s me_!” Frank backs up a little, making shushing gestures as Lola’s sitting bolt upright, breathing hard with panic. 

“ _Dick_.” She hissed once her racing heart has calmed down a little, and he’s laughing his fucking head off now she’s no longer terrified that it might be an intruder. He pulls the back door of the van shut now that she’s awake and he doesn’t need the streetlight to see where he was moving her, and they’re bathed in darkness. “You absolute  _dick_ , warn me next time.”

“How? You- Lo, you were so high I could have set you on fire and you’d’ve just fuckin’ let yourself burn-”

“Weed makes me weird, leave a note.” She advised, shuffling around to make room for him in the dark as he lay out beside her. “You’re still wearing jeans.” It’s much less hostile this time, and Frank laughs sleepily,  though it’s muffled by the pillow.

“That’s tomorrow’s problem, babe,” he mused, turning on his side to face her. He can barely see her in the darkness, but he knows she’s facing him. “I can’t believe you came to fuckin’ LA with me,” he snickers, but she’s still quiet. His hand comes to rest on her hip where she’s laying on her side, and his hand drifts higher until she can feel fingertips brushing the burns on her back. She wants to tell him to fuck off, to slap his hand away, to get mad and shove him from her personal space, but he’s not reacting how she thought he would.

“You’re so fuckin’ badass,” he yawns gently, and  _oh no,_ there in her chest, that sudden rush of affection that she doesn’t like to think about too often. But she’s not his girlfriend, she’s his good friend, sure, but she isn’t allowed to  _feel things_ for him, she isn’t allowed to kiss him, and her personal rule is that she's  _definitely forbidden_ from sleeping with him. Nothing that means something more than fucking around. She’s not even seventeen, she’s not going to ruin it by catching feelings for the first boy to get her off.

But if she’s being honest, she’s very nearly seventeen, and well aware that what little self control she has crumbles at the slightest provocation. At least she’s self aware.  _As if that will help._


	4. break up with your girlfriend ‘cos i’m bored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> settling into a new apartment and a new routine and frank’s got a new girlfriend and an old habit that gets objectively worse in a new situation.

For a month, actually two and a half, everything’s  _fine_ , everything’s  _great_ , everything  _stagnates_ between them; yeah they get each other off more often than people who consider each other Just Friends technically should but it’s not something either of them feels the need to dwell on.

Lola, true to her word, got a job; she’s a maid at a shitty little motel that doesn’t ask too many questions and pays her in cash. Between the band’s earnings and Lola’s crappy income, she and Frank are only sleeping in the back of the van for two months before they’ve managed to rent what is quite possibly the shittiest apartment in LA, and they’re  _ecstatic_ about it.

The singer is gracious enough to lend them the mattress from the back of the van, which they put on the floor in the bedroom of their new place. For the first few weeks, there’s milk crates rather than a coffee table, and plastic folding chairs in lieu of a sofa, and a friend of a friend of a friend gives them a bar fridge at a good price when they can’t afford a full fridge. Their closet consists of a pile of clothes in the corner of the bedroom and arguments over who’s black jeans are who’s, and hey, they even had a jukebox and speakers; granted the lid for the jukebox was smashed and it needed a new needle, and the speakers were found a few weeks later and needed a bit of rewiring, but it’s home.

And it’s  _perfect_.

It takes some getting used to, because yeah they don’t technically have to pay for gas or water or power; they’re in an apartment block, but rent alone eats up most of their ’ _budget_ ’, as if they know what that is, and there’s definitely nights where there’s nothing but stale beer in the fridge and tensions are high. The kitchen staff at Lola’s work take a liking to her, take pity on her and feed her when they can, for which she is grateful, and they both drink for free at the bar a few blocks away, as long as Frank’s band keeps playing there. They make it work.

Lola’s learned to enjoy her own company, spending her days off alone in the apartment while Frank goes to band practice, learned to spend nights alone when he’s off with - well he won’t call her his girlfriend, but it certainly seems like it;  _Annie_ , she likes that he’s in a band, and apparently she likes his music. Lola has a sneaking suspicion that he just likes her because she puts out. Annie doesn’t like that he lives with Lola, though this amuses Lola more than anything else. And honestly,  _yeah_ , Annie has every reason to not like Lola, especially since, while things haven’t exactly gone further between Frank and Lola, they also haven’t slowed down.

Band practice ended early this Sunday, and when Frank gets back to the flat, Lola’s passed out on the mattress, basking in a mid-afternoon nap, wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of panties, her usual pyjama attire, her skin golden in the sunlight; it’s been a long week for both of them, they’d dragged a sofa from the curb up to their apartment only half an hour before Lola had to be at work yesterday, he won’t begrudge her a rest. In fact, he kicks off his shoes and finds himself flopping down beside her.

“Practice good?” So it turns out she’s not as passed out as he thought, and she rolls over to give him a sleepy smile. He shrugs noncommittally, and that’s when Lola shifts to rest her head on his chest, “not great?” Though her voice is innocent, she’s already ghosting her fingers lazily across his stomach, teasing the sliver of exposed skin where his shirt had lifted.

“We’re gonna start recording some stuff soon, but, I don’t know,” he played along, as if trying to ignore her fingers dancing every closer to the waistband of his jeans. “I’m staying at Annie’s tonight.” Her hand stills where it’s come to rest by his belt buckle.

“So?”

“ _So_ , you gonna promise to not leave any marks?” He snickered, and Lola’s fingers began to unclasp his belt.

“You like my hickeys,” she says breezily, though his hand grabs hers, and in a flurry of movement, Lola finds herself on her back, the hand pinned to the shitty mattress, Frank sitting on her bare thighs; he was smirking and didn’t seem like he was going to move anytime soon,  "gimme a break,“ she huffed, and her next words come out as more of a whine than she intends them to, "I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” It borders on  _needy_ , and when she wiggles a little, as if to add emphasis, Frank’s mouth goes dry.

“You saw me yesterday,” he raised an eyebrow and Lola wrinkles her nose, but doesn’t answer. “I don’t have a lot of time-  _is that my shirt_?” When he sees her pleased little grin, the way she tugs at the bottom of the shirt to show off the logo of the shirt that was obviously too big for her, something about it sets Frank’s heart beating at a rhythm that was painfully familiar by now. Instead of saying anything, he grins, shakes his head, and hooks his thumb in the waistband of her panties.

“This is why your girlfriend hates me,” but it’s said with such confidence that he actually laughs, moving off of her, coming to settle with his head between her thighs, “I mean, she has every right to.”

“This isn’t why she hates you,” Frank gives her an amused look, which Lola misses with her head back against the pillows. She threads her fingers through his hair, guides him insistently, which would be amusing if it wasn’t sort of really hot.

“Yeah but it should be.”

It’s  _so damn easy_ to be the bad guy and forget it means anything, especially when she’s enabling him like this. Lola’s whimpers are like music, neither quiet nor apologetic for enjoying what the does to her, and Frank knows in his heart that Annie will never compare in a moment like this. Except he likes both girls for different reasons, it’s not a fair comparison; Annie’s beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, she genuinely loves his music, his style, and she’s into some pretty freaky stuff, which he appreciates. And Lola’s pretty, not as objectively pretty as Annie, but something about the way she smiles, how warm she is when she crawls into bed after a long day of work, the way she puts up with him and his empty fridge and how they both know he’s leading her on a bit- he keeps both girls around for different reasons. Except Lola knows this, actually seems pretty okay with it. Annie doesn’t, and probably isn’t okay with it.

“So it’s okay for  _you_ to leave hickeys?” Lola scoffs, a little out of breath and hips bucking as she tries to get more friction against his fingers as he sucks a dark hickey into her inner thigh.

“Get a boyfriend, maybe I’ll be more careful,” is his response, and something about the phrase seems to do something for her as Lola’s head drops back against the pillows as her hips roll, swears whispered like prayers from her lips.

It’s  _so easy_ to be the bad guy. To  _enjoy_ it. And Frank’s pretty sure he’s not alone in that sentiment.

And when he leaves the apartment, Lola’s already asleep. It’s easier to sleep than it is to ignore the way her stomach rumbles, and she can get lunch at work tomorrow. Sleep just makes that come sooner.

Annie’s at the apartment a lot more than Lola would like; she never stays over because she refuses to sleep on the grubby mattress she would also have to share with Lola -  _“No I’m not moving; I live here too.” / “You’re a brat.”_ \- but she’s taken to just hanging out. The thing is, however, that Lola doesn’t actually hate Annie the way Annie hates Lola; Lola knows where she stands in a way that Annie doesn’t, and if she’s being cruel and honest, she can tell Frank isn’t invested in Annie in the long term, Lola’s got the smugness that comes with security.

Annie doesn’t stay long, neither does the slew of women that follow as the months pass by, but soon they have furniture in their apartment, still mostly from various curbs and not a lot of food in the fridge, but they haven’t gotten sick of each other or killed each other by the time six months rolls around, which is honestly better than either was expecting. It helps, Lola thinks, that she’s still not slept with him. It’s the actual reason she doesn’t begrudge his girlfriends; she’s not one-hundred-percent the bad guy as long as she doesn’t go all the way with him.

Despite this, along the way she’s pretty sure she’s fallen in love with the way he smiles in the morning and the way his breath catches in his throat when he’s close and he’s got his hands fisted in her hair, and perhaps everything in between.

But he keeps dating other girls; if he wanted her, he’d have her, she knows this. So they keep fooling around; she puts her and enjoyment over those other girls’, she lets herself be selfish.

Yet  _he_ knows that if he had her, truly had her, emotions and all, he risks their whole friendship. And he’s not willing to risk that, so he lets himself be selfish too.


	5. that might save my skin but it won’t save my soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> frank talks to his dad, stops being frank, sets things on fire which triggers lola, and things go probably too far (for the better(?))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have any notes regarding the themes of the fic, please please please reach out to me and talk to me about them, i’m open to constructive criticism and i do not take the themes i talk about lightly.

There was a phone book on their coffee table for weeks, and now it’s  _gone_.  The whiskey Lola had “borrowed” from one of the motel mini bars is missing. The fridge is empty, so are the cupboards but that’s not new; what’s new is the backup liquor is gone too.

And Frank is nowhere to be found.

He’s been weird for a few weeks, been scouring the phone book for a name he keeps muttering but can’t seem to say out loud. And now it’s Thursday, it’s not even the weekend, and Lola knows he had band practice but he’s usually home by at least two in the morning, but it’s edging on three and Lola’s  _pissed;_ she tried taking some caps to distract her, but it’s just made her mouth dry and feel every ounce of anger as it builds in her body.

“You took my fucking booze,” she snaps, the moment the door swings open and Frank steps inside.

“Fuck off,” he snaps, in a mood of his own, anger practically radiating off him in waves. He’s holding a bottle of Jack Daniels, mostly empty, and not even Lola’s.

“No, you know how long it takes me to steal that shit?”

“I don’t give a shit, Lola,” moving past her, he snatches the phonebook from the table, heading back outside.

“Tonight was my night off, I was gonna get shitfaced and listen to The Stones, but  _no,_ ” she followed, still loud and angry, “you had to go and take my shit, leaving me with your cheap-ass molly, which did jack shit to calm me down,” she’s mad, rambling, probably waking the neighbours, though that’s not new. Frank turns on her, stopping where he’s halfway down the stair with the phonebook still in his white-knuckled grip.

“You took some of my-?”

“You stole my booze!” She countered before he even gets the chance to be indignant, running into him when she can’t bring herself to stop soon enough. Though Frank catches them both before they go careening down the stairs, he still seems angry. “Why’ve you go the phonebook?” Lola finally asks, scowling and trying not to focus on how her skin is tingling with his hand on her arm, though she’s pretty sure that’s just the drugs.

“Frank Ferrana’s a fucking asshole.” Frank’s whole face scrunches up, stepping away and making his way to the bottom of the stairs. Lola just tries to keep her balance, leaning against the banister, watching, her anger being overtaken easily by curiosity as he pulls out a lighter.

“You can be a right dick but-”

“Not me. I’m not- fuck, that dickhead thinks he doesn’t owe me anything,” he snapped, more to himself than anything else, “I don’t want shit to do with him.” Lola’s face split into a grin as she leaned her cheek against the banister railing, watching as he holds the flame of the lighter to the phonebook.

“ _Daddy issues_ ,” it’s hard enough hold back a laugh, as she shoots for serious, nodding sagely with sudden understanding.

“Shut the fuck up,  _Katie_ ,” he scowls up at her, but she’s too high to be offended, watching the flame eat away at the paper where he’s dropped it on the concrete of the courtyard.

“But between my mommy issues and your daddy issues we almost make one whole person!” Lola coos, half laughing, but then the fire picks up and her expression drops as she finally focuses on it, on the sound, the light, the phantom heat she thinks she can feel despite how far away it is. Frank says something about how it’s not the same, clearly not in the mood for the joke, but Lola doesn’t hear it, has shut down, sitting on the step by the building, as far from the fire as she can get, back pressed to the cool stone bricks.  

Her mind feels white hot where she can see the light emanating from it, but not the fire itself. Her mouth is dry and she’s only half aware that she’s grinding her teeth, all the knows is that the tingling sensation has gotten painful and when she squeezes her eyes shut she sees the light of fire shining off the walls of her childhood home; the house is fine but  _god it hurts, it hurts, it-_

“Fuck off!” The moment someone touches her, a light hand on her shoulder, but she’s scrambling to her feet, fingers scratching against her skin as she fights to take off her shirt because it must be burning-  _her back is burning-_ “Fuck off!” She yells it again, shaking as she stumbles back up the stairs, leaving her shirt on ground as she heads back into the flat.

When she comes back to herself, sitting in her shower with freezing water pouring over her, she knows one thing for certain; she needs a fucking drink. But the water is too soothing on her back for her doped up mind to even consider getting out, though seeing as she hadn’t even bothered to close the door, she takes the chance.

“Can- can I have some of that Jack?” She calls, taking a sip of the water that’s falling on her, soothing her unreasonably dry throat. “Frank-?”

“Jesus, fuck, don’t call me that,” he snaps, but he’s in the doorframe with the bottle but sans his leather jacket,  scowling at Lola huddled at the bottom of the shower, still wearing her shorts. “What’s up with you?”

“I…” she has to close her eyes, has to feel the phantom flames raging in her mind to remember, “putting out the fire.” After a beat, she opened her eyes, face still scrunched up, “the fuck am I supposed to call you then?”

“Nikki.”

“How’s that not a stripper name?” Is Lola’s immediate response, and Nikki steps into the bathroom, before thinking better of it, holding the doorframe for support as he toes off his shoes and makes his way to the shower with the bottle in his hands. He’s frowning.

“I just- Claire knew a guy named Nikki, it’s more rock and roll.” He gets into the shower opposite her, still in his jeans and shirt, but jumps back the moment the water hits his skin, “fuck, that’s freezing.” Lola reaches up blindly, turning up the heat a  _fraction_.

Claire is his latest girlfriend, and Lola’s already forgotten her name again.

“Nikki?” Lola asks, watching as he sits opposite her in the cramped shower space. He nods, and Lola actually smiles a little. They share a moment, beneath the cool water in the warm night, but as the water warms, the sensation spreading across Lola’s skin is turning soft and pleasant, and she tips her head back against the wall, drawing her knees closer to her chest.

“Hey did you get set on fire?” Nikki asks, blunt as all hell, shattering the moment in an instant. “Not tonight, like before, is that-” and he gestures to her vaguely, and then to his own back, and Lola’s whole expression sours.

“Die curious.” She spits, and turns the water back to cold. Nikki’s nose wrinkles with discomfort, but he holds the bottle out as a peace offering.

“I’m not the one sitting under a stream of fuckin’ ice trying to put out a fire that’s not there; fucking excuse me for wondering.” He rolls his eyes as Lola swipes the bottle from him and takes a long sip. After a moment, she’s still scowling but then she’s moving; when she’d taken off her shirt she’d forgotten that she hadn’t been wearing a bra, but it’s not like he’d never seen her tits before, so she wasn’t really worried. Now, however, she’s on her knees, swivelling to face away from him, pulling her hair over her shoulder to expose her whole back.

There’s silence. Lola’s too far gone to be nervous, but she hears Nikki’s soft ’ _holy shit_ ’ and she takes another drink. Her whole back is covered in burn scars, the skin pinched and twisted and discoloured with seemingly no rhyme or reason; some of the nerves were shot, while some where hypersensitive, and between the molly and the hypersensitivity, when Nikki reached out to gently touch it, she hears herself gasp.

“ _That’s fucked,_ ” he breathes, and his fingertips graze higher. A shiver runs down Lola’s spine and she can’t help but laugh. When she closes her eyes, she can’t see the fire, can’t feel the flames, the cool water’s helped her flashback pass and now she’s far too aware of all of the sensations she’s feeling.

“Like I said; between my mommy issues and your-,” Lola half laughs, but then Nikki’s got his hand on her hips, moving her, pulling her into his lap. She’s facing him now, straddling him, shielding him from the water while he looks at her with a glassy-eyed expression, like it’s all hitting him at once, everything he’s drunk, all the shit with his dad, Lola’s shit, like he can’t quite process everything, like he’s not even trying to at this point.

“We’re fucked, Lo; everything’s fucked.”

And he’s drunk and she’s high and she knows this is a terrible idea, but he’s looking at her like she’s the only thing that’s making sense, and all she knows is that she doesn’t want him to let go of her.

Her hands find his face, and she gently rests her forehead against his, smiling soft, a little dreamy, almost a direct counterpoint to him.

“Everything’s fucked, Nikki,” she agrees in earnest, and it takes a moment to get out the new name through the fog that’s clouding her mind, but the moment it leaves her mouth he’s kissing her. There’s still some of his residual anger, and the kiss is hard, tasting sharp and heady like whiskey, though it’s so familiar, and he’s pulling her close. Hands on her thighs, her back, her waist, her chest, he can’t seem to decide, but then she’s pulling back, breathing hard and pulling at his shirt. He pulls it off obligingly, and Lola leans back, turning up the warm water. Nikki’s lips find her neck, kiss down to her chest, and it’s as if she can feel everything ten times more than usual, high and elated and already somehow forgetting how much pain her mind had put her through not ten minutes ago.

With her nipple between his teeth, she’s whimpering, needy and desperate and unashamed, and she’s got her hands in his hair as he tries to get her out of her pants. It’s not working, not with the corduroy clinging from the water and stubbournly high waisted; he can’t help but pull back a little.

“Not enough room in here,” he mutters, and sits up further, reaching past Lola to turn off the shower, but she wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him, content under the stream for a few more moments. Something in her chest crows loud and proud when he kisses her back, pulling her flush to him, sitting forward so she can wrap her legs around his hips. Her kisses are  _hungry_ , like she needs to be close to him, and then he’s biting at her bottom lip as he runs his nails along her spine and she almost chokes on the water as she pulls away, arching into him. He laughs, like an asshole, like  _him._

“You wanna get out now?” He asks, tone teasing as he finally turns the water off with one hand, the other tapping out a rhythm against her lower back. She’s wiping water from her eyes, nodding agreeing and trying to stand; she almost overbalances, but he’s there to catch her, and they manage to maneuver from the bathroom without falling over, but she doesn’t let him go. When he’s touching her, her skin sings and her soul feels alive. It’s mostly the drugs, she knows, but it feels so damn good.

Lola peels off her shorts the moment she’s in the bedroom, stumbling to the bed and enjoying the sensation of the sheets against her bare, damp skin, tuning out where Nikki’s struggling with his wet jeans and cursing. She’s got a hand between her own legs by the time he makes his way to the bed. He takes a moment to marvel and enjoy the sight, to watch her grinning and biting her lip as she shifts on top of the duvet, waiting for him.

Then he’s leaning over her, a knee between her legs, nudging her thighs apart. Lola’s not nervous, doesn’t have any sort of inhibitions, all she knows is that he’s taking his time and she’s done waiting for what’s been a long time coming.

“ _Please_ ,” she murmurs, props herself up on her elbows as he leans down, they meet in the middle, his lips against hers softer this time, grinning a little as he teases her, his fingers replacing hers. He’s pleasantly surprised at how wet she is already.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you say please,” he murmurs, curling a finger inside of her. It doesn’t trip her up, however, she’s been teased like this enough that she can keep a conversation while he’s trying to be cheeky.

“I only use it on special -” but she cuts herself off with a gasp because he’s sinking into her, and it’s a sensation she isn’t used it, though it’s definitely one she enjoys. It takes a few moments to adjust, and Nikki likes that he can leave her speechless, on occasion.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she breathes, and then her hips are rolling, experimental.

“Knew we’d end up here,” he admits, starting gentle, pressing his smirk against her collar, and Lola’s nails are pressing softly into his back. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t know what to say, especially not when she agrees wholeheartedly, but doesn’t want to seem too eager about it, which is strange, her high mind considers; he’s the one who brought it up, he’s the one fucking her, she’s allowed to be as eager as she wants. But then he’s biting at her collar and the thoughts leave her mind.

While it starts soft, it’s more for Lola’s inexperience, and once she’s got a handle on the situation, she’s nothing if not enthusiastic. However, there’s surprising moments of softness that make her feel things she can’t quite describe.

There’s a moment where he brings her up to sitting, still deep inside of her, and he’s got a hand in her hair tugging gently, and she gasps at the sensation, at the new angle, his lips on her throat, and she rolls her hips. A whine is drawn from her, eyes fluttering closed as she arches against him, her chest pressed to his, moving now in a steady rhythm as she takes the moment to enjoy this position, whispering a faint curse as her hands find his face. He nips gently at her throat before he lifts his head to look at her, worried that something was wrong or off, but she’s got his face in her hands, her eyes closed as she messily kisses his jaw before she finds his mouth, whimpering against his lips. They’re lost in each other, in the moment, and then something flicks over in his mind and his grip gets tighter, pulling at her hair and leaving little nail marks on her hip and she laughs low and appreciative as she presses herself closer to him.

He leaves her with bruises and scratches and marks all over, and she seems to appreciate every one. Doesn’t even make a fuss when he asks her to try and not leave marks on him, he’s got little nail indents in his back, and teeth marks on his shoulder, but when she’s close she fists her hands in the sheets and bites her own hand to muffle herself.

So far, she’s been able to fool herself into believe she’s not the bad guy, that she does bad things, but she’s not the  _bad guy_. But she wakes up in Nikki’s arms, and his girlfriend is knocking on their front door.

“Lo?” Nikki asks her name, gentle and sleepy, thumb brushing over a particularly raised ridge of a scar on her back where she’s turned away from him, out of her grip.

“Go,” she assures him, yawning to try and hide the defeated edge in her voice. He presses a kiss to her bare hip, pulling the covers over her. “God you’re the worst,” Lola chuckles, and looks over her shoulder, and he shouldn’t smile at her like that when he’s actively breaking the heart of the girl at the front door, and she’s aiding and abetting him.

Things don’t feel different than they did before, Lola comes to realise. Just a new layer of what they usually do, both too dumb to stop, too dumb to say anything serious to the other about it. What they have doesn’t change that much, and somehow Lola’s both relieved and disappointed.


	6. picking a fight ‘cos i want you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> years pass and it’s not all smooth sailing. lola gets into relationships and fights and fuck ups.

_Sister_  doesn’t last more than six weeks after their first demo is recorded, and though the band is quick to split, a few stay together, find themselves a new guitarist and drummer, and so London is born.

And then Lola’s eighteen, exactly where she said she wouldn’t be as a roadie for Nikki’s band, spending Fridays and Saturdays falling in and out of bed with musicians, or bartenders, or fans of the band who think she’s hot.

“Are you and Nikki, like, together?” The guitarist asks, and she thinks he’s a dumbass; who asks a girl that when she’s in their lap with her shirt off. His bedroom is a familiar sight by now, which just makes the timing of the question worse.

“The fuck kind of question is that?” The words come out a snap, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. A hint of nervousness passes over his face as she leans in, like he’s worried the question hit a nerve, but then she presses a kiss to his jaw, trailing her lips down his throat and he chuckles as the sudden tension leaves as soon as it has risen.

“You-” his breath catches as she bites at his collar, “I’ve seen you go home with him.” The words come out too fast for him to stop them, and Lola goes still for a  _very long moment._  She’s trembling, grip on his shirt tightening, resting her head on his shoulder and God, what did he say? Is she crying?

“I live with him and I can’t drive,  _you fucking dumbass_ ,” she laughs, loud and bright, her amused smile shining in the light of his bedside lamp.

“You  _live_ with him?” He asks, disbelieving as she’s undoing the buttons of his shirt. “But not- you’re not together?”  _Not technically,_ but that’s not what she tells him. She tells him ’ _no_ ’ outright. Because they’re not dating, they’re fucking, which is working  _great_ for them both.

As a roadie, Lola keeps her distance, let’s the roadies get first dibs on what she knows she could get any night of the week if she wanted to. She drinks and takes molly in the bathroom during sound checks and dances the night away, standing back as girls fawn on the band, and then she moves equipment. At the end of the night, after drinking herself into an almost legless state, Nikki will take them both home, or he’s got his arms around another girl and his lips on her and something in Lola’s chest hurts but she gets a ride home with the singer and sleeps on the sofa. Even if Nikki doesn’t come home, it feels weird to sleep in their bed without him.

And then she’s nineteen and dating their replacement guitarist and Nikki tells her she has a type, with more malice than is probably necessary, and she tells him to shove it up his ass, that he’s just jealous that she’s not sucking his dick on the regular anymore.

“It’s cute that you’re pretending like you know what the fuck discretion is,” it’s Wednesday afternoon and he’s already buzzed; band practice was cancelled and he’s bored out of his fucking mind. “So it’s alright for us to fuck around when _I’m_ the one with the girlfriend, but suddenly everything stops the moment you get a boyfriend and decide to discover the concept of morality?” Lola’s wearing a pair of jean shorts that makes her ass look amazing, and it’s the first time she’s been home all week, and that asshole guitarist doesn’t deserve her-

“Alright, you got me, I’m learning to be half decent, Nikki-” She’s knocking about the fridge, looking for something, anything to eat that isn’t a bottle of sauce. There’s a packet of instant noodles in the back of the cupboard by the fridge. She flicks on the kettle.

“With  _my fucking guitarist_!”

“What is your problem?” She snarls, whipping around, and he’s there, on the other side of the counter that separates the kitchen from the lounge room, glowering at her. “ _Your_  guitarist? He’s a grown-ass man; we’re  _all_  fully capable adults, so what’s your real fucking problem?”

He seems shocked that she’d be so direct, watching her cock her hip and cross her arms, not back down. She’s never backed down before, he shouldn’t be surprised; he’s always found himself drawn to her anger, but he’s never been the single one in their equation before. The kettle boils behind her.

“You drink my booze and you take my molly and you don’t pay shit; I’m not getting anything out of this,” he lies easily, triumphant at Lola’s surprised expression.

“You’re getting all pissy because I’m no longer paying for drugs with my fucking body?” She spits, and there’s genuine hurt in there, a hint of disappointment when she believes his lie, believes that’s all their physical relationship meant to him. “How much do I owe you?”

“What do you mean?” He sighs, watching her as she storms into their room.

“If this is about your fucking money, how much do I owe you?” She snaps, and returns with a stack of cash; her form of savings. It’s not about the money, it was never about the money, but she still throws some bills at him, expression steely.

“Maybe you’ll be able to afford girl who’ll fuck you without complaint,” she spits. The kettle dings. She leaves without her noodles.

The first night she’s gone, Nikki drinks a full bottle of Jack Daniels and wakes up in the bed of a girl he doesn’t recognise. The second night is band practice and he almost punches the guitarist in the face; practice doesn’t go well. When he gets back to his place, he sees that Lola’s been there, picked up a change of clothes, and left. No note.

By the time he sees her again, it’s the weekend, they’re playing the Rainbow, and she looks fucking stunning as she helps lift a quad box into the venue, decked out in leather and denim, her hair in tight braids to keep them out of her face as she works. The guitarist has his hands all over her whenever he gets the chance, and she leans into it; and maybe her intentions are a little bit spiteful, but she leans into it, basks in being so wanted, in him wanting everyone to see them together, to not having to hide.

Nikki wants nothing more than to deck the guitarist; they’d never gotten along, and God, as selfish as it seems, he wants nothing more to than to know that this was just a ploy to get back at him. It’s not, but somehow that’s worse.

What’s worse is that he’s sleeping on the sofa when he’s sleeping alone because if he keeps sleeping in the bed without Lola- he’s  _not_ some fucking  _softhearted sap._  He sleeps on the sofa  _because the bed is cold and weird and the sofa is just easier_ , is what he tells himself.

What’s worse is that she finally comes home, as if in a daze, and doesn’t even speak before she’s laying on him on the sofa, pressing her face into his chest. She smells like booze and smoke and sex and her clothes aren’t sitting right and he knows exactly where she’s just been. He’s still looking up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, and he wraps an arm around her automatically.

Her gaze is shallow as she sits up, looking him over like there’s a question on the tip of her tongue that she can’t quite articulate, but she takes his hand.

“Come to bed?” It’s so soft. Nikki rolls his eyes, but gets to his feet, and Lola’s brow furrows at the moment but still leads him to bed. “Missed you.” She murmurs, pulling off her clothes, not even bothering with pyjamas as she crawls into bed in just her panties. He’s still in the doorframe, leaning against it, skepticism painted all over his face.

“Really?” He snorts, and Lola pulls the blankets around herself, turning away from him. The sight of her scars still manages to take his breath away; it’s been a long while since he’d seen them. She still trusts him enough to not be self conscious of them around him. Her humourless laugh is the only answer he gets. “Why are you back here?”

“I live here.” She doesn’t turn around.

“Could have fooled me.” But Nikki gets into bed anyways, his back to Lola, just glad to not be sleeping on the sofa, to not be sleeping alone. When, a few moments later, he feels the bed shift, feels Lola wrap an arm around him and press her lips to his shoulder blade, he just sighs.

When he wakes in the morning, she’s gone, taken a bag full of clothes and left rent money for the week on the counter. She still pays rent weekly, usually when she sees him at gigs, though the guitarist isn’t exactly happy about it.

“Baby, I told you you don’t have to keep living in that shithole,” he’s got her practically sitting in his lap, a bold choice when Lola’s wearing jeans with little spikes on them, but he doesn’t seem to mind, “you can stay with me.” Nikki rolls his eyes and takes another drag from his cigarette.

“I told you, I like having a place of my own,” Lola’s voice is soft, though there’s a hint of warning in it as she lifts the guitarist’s chin to look her in the eyes. Nikki actually scoffs at that. Lola doesn’t look at him.

“I just don’t get why you have to live with  _him.”_

Lola’s eyebrows rise. In the beat that follows the guitarist’s statement, her whole expression twists into something that’s somehow equal parts dangerous and disbelieving.

“I’ve lived with him for years,” it’s like she wants to laugh, but the words are sharp and humourless, “ _don’t you trust me_?” Both Nikki and Lola know the right answer, and it isn’t the one the guitarist gives. He deflects the question instead of answering, saying it’s Nikki he doesn’t trust, but he still doesn’t meet Lola’s gaze.

“That’s a shitty thing to say about my best friend,” is all she says as she climbs from the guitarist’s lap. Something about the way she says it, a little hurt, a little defiant, has the guitarist’s expression falling, and Nikki smirking like the cat who got the cream. “And I think I’m gonna sleep in my own bed tonight; Nikki?” When she calls his name, he looks over, eyebrows raised like he hadn’t been listening in to every word, “you okay to take me home?” She gives him a smile, single eyebrow raised in unspoken question that goes over the guitarist’s head, and Nikki’s weak, he’s so fucking weak, he nods. “Good, I’m going to get a drink.” Turning on her heel, Lola leaves, even with the guitarist calling out after her.

But he doesn’t go after her.

Nikki does.

He tells the rest of the band he’s going for a piss, but he finds Lola at the bar, her head in her hands, watching the bartender pour what appears to be her second shot in a row.

“Lo?”

She’s seething as she down the shot and motions for a third.

“Lola-?”

“I’ve been  _good_ ,” she snarls, crackling with an anger Nikki hasn’t seen before, her hands slamming onto the bar and spooking the poor bartender. Lola apologises quickly and downs the third shot, finally turning to face Nikki after she slams the glass on the table, “I’ve been  _so fucking good_. I’ve given him  _every_ reason to trust me; I haven’t fucked around, I haven’t stolen his wallet, I give good damn head, I’ve been a  _saint_.” She orders a jack and coke while Nikki listens, amused, “ _Fuck that_. I’m fucking tired of being good, it doesn’t get you  _shit._ How  _dare_ he tell me he loves me, but turn around, call my place a shithole, insult you, and imply he doesn’t trust me?” After a beat, the drink is placed before her and Nikki rests his hand on her thigh, about to ask if she’s ready to head home, but she takes a long sip, a look of intent in her eyes.

“If he doesn’t trust me by now he’s never fucking going to,” there’s an air of finality to it, and Nikki wants to say something, comfort her maybe? Not that he knows how. But it doesn’t matter, she’s not giving him room to add anything. “I know we should head home, but I wanna finish my drink and fuck you in the bathroom; thoughts?”

It finally feels like they’re back on the same page, with Lola sharp and spiteful, digging her nails into his back, quick and dirty and angry, in the bathroom, in the back of Nikki’s car, and when they finally stumble into bed together.

“Do you- hey, do you-” Lola’s words get caught in her throat as Nikki presses a kiss to her stomach while he tugs down her jeans, “this is stupid but-” she cuts herself off with a laugh as she’s kicking the jeans off to the side, “do you remember, ages ago, saying you’d try not to leave hickeys if I had a boyfriend?”

“ _Really_?” Nikki asks in disbelief, and Lola sits up, grinning, lifting his chin to kiss him roughly.

“Actually I was gonna say to ignore that,” she laughed a little, low and heady, sinking back against the pillows, “in fact, if you wanna give me something to show off, I wouldn’t be mad.” She’s angry, and spiteful, and  _gorgeous_ in the moment, and Nikki doesn’t say he missed her, because he tells himself he’s not allowed to miss what’s not his, but when he wakes up the next morning, and Lola’s laying her head on his chest, an arm slung across him, but he gets close.

“Lo?” His voice is rough with sleep as he blinks blearily at her, and she’s not awake yet either, just makes a hum of mostly asleep acknowledgement, and she tucks herself closer to him.

She and the guitarist aren’t together for long after that.

And then she’s twenty, and she’s still a roadie for the band, but she doesn’t stay for their gigs after almost getting into a fight between sets with the singer, who’d accused her of running off all their guitarists. It’s only happened that once on purpose, though he attributes another two to her and she goes to punch him, but the drummer calls over security before she can swing at him.

So while the band plays, she heads around to the other pubs and clubs to kill time, and during the days she doesn’t work, she works out, tired of being overlooked and underestimated.

Nikki and Lola move out of their shithole apartment into a bigger, but no less shitty place around the corner from Whiskey-A-Go-Go, and it’s got two bedrooms, but sleeping alone feels weird and unnecessary, so they use the other bedroom as a guest room, or as a place to crash if the other is getting laid.

During their post-gig housewarming party, the singer calls her bitchy and codependent, and Nikki’s off getting his dick sucked in the bathroom so there’s no-one to stop Lola when she launches herself at the singer, landing a few solid punches on him before she’s dragged off by one of the people she knows vaguely from the music scene.

“What the fuck is your problem with me?” She snaps at the singer, thrashing as she’s being held back.

“You’re a fucking psycho!” He spits through a split lip, looking at Lola with rage in his eyes as he backs towards the door. He doesn’t give her a real answer, just calls her a bitch, a slut, calls her fucking  _Yoko Ono_  before she threatens to smash his teeth in. He bolts from the apartment when she wrenches herself free from the person holding her back, and she hollers threats at him, watching him retreat.

So she doesn’t roadie for them anymore, hires herself out to other bands who play at Whiskey-A-Go-Go, and takes up boxing; she’s never going to let herself get held back like that again. Nikki still plays with  _London_ , the band’s current cast is too good to pass up, but he doesn’t enjoy it. 

“It’s weird not seeing you at our gigs anymore,” Lola’s roadie-ing keeps her much busier of a night, and it’s Thursday when she stumbles into bed, still wearing her jeans. Yawning, she tries to wiggle out of them.

“Get rid of the asshole and I’ll be front row for every show.”

Nikki laughs, stretching and shifting around to get more comfortable. Lola throws her jeans down beside the bed and undoes her bra beneath her shirt before settling in herself.

And then she’s just turned twenty-one, and doesn’t realise how everything about to change.


	7. enter, a hopeless fucking romantic

Lola’s earned herself a reputation on The Strip by the time London’s broken up, whether it’s people passing around rumours about her fighting or fucking, or surprisingly enough, her skill and efficiency at setting up and packing down band equipment one way or another she’s made a name for herself. Nikki likes to poke fun at her for being too mainstream, too punk; she’s got an undercut which she shows off by teasing her hair up in the front and pulling it into a messy braid at the back to keep it out of her face, which also goes a ways to showing off her multitude of ear piercings, most of which had been done in a drunk, high haze.

“So find somewhere else to live, asshole, I’m the only one who pays rent anyways,” she snaps, and the girl he’s bought home giggles nervously, “shut up, you don’t live here either.” Lola snarls, and the girl’s expression turns to just nervous.

“Go get a piercing about it, punk bitch,” Nikki rolls his eyes as Lola stalks past them and out of the apartment, punching him in the arm on the way.

“Rather be a punk bitch than just a whiny bitch,” she spits at him, teeth bared, “he gets me to dye his fucking hair like every two weeks,” she adds for effect when she gets to the door, and the other girl is giggling, asking him if it’s true, but Lola hears Nikki’s heavy, platform-booted footsteps coming after her, so she laughs loud and mean, slamming the door and racing down the stairs in her much more reasonable boots as he hollers threats at her. She flips him off as she practically skips away.

So that’s how she finds herself trouping down the street, just passed eleven, looking for someone good playing at anywhere that wasn’t the Whiskey; if she saw someone play there she knew she’d just end up at home, listening to Nikki fuck whoever that other girl was, and get high on the sofa instead of sleeping. Or she and Nikki were going to get into another fight, and she didn’t have the time for that right now.

The music seeping from the Starwood a few blocks away was half decent, and that’s how Lola finds herself intrigued by a blonde singer of a cover band calling themselves  _Rock Candy_. They fuck in the bathroom of the bar, and she doesn’t even know his name but he invites her back to wherever the band is having drinks, and he introduces her to cocaine and leaves hickeys on her chest and makes mention that he has a girlfriend when she has her lips on his neck. He can feel her smile as she gently trails her nails down his chest.

“What she can’t prove won’t hurt her.”

She stays in whoever’s house this is even when the singer leaves, sleeps on the floor beneath a fur coat someone leaves laying around, and when she wakes, she realises she’s laying on a few bits of broken glass, too strung out to have felt it last night where it had cut her a little. There’s a line of coke left on the table which she snorts easily, before finally stumbling from the stranger’s shithole apartment, heading back to her own shithole apartment. She takes a pack of bandaids from a nearby general store and when she’s home, Nikki yells at her about bleeding on the sofa where she’s giving herself first aid. She yells back that she’d give a shit if they’d actually paid for it, and he can’t actually argue with that, so he throws himself onto the sofa beside her, arm slung over the back of the sofa, beer in the other hand, and she lays her head in his lap when she’s finished with the bandaids.

“You’re such a bitch,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes at him, but she’s grinning, looking as though she feels pretty damn secure, “what are you on?”

“Coke.” She muses happily, before sitting up suddenly, her mind catching up a moment later, “I need a shower.” And she’s already off, making a beeline for the bathroom, shedding her clothes on the way.

“You had coke and you didn’t fucking invite me?” Nikki calls out after her, and Lola makes an indecipherable noise, followed by a laugh. She’s in her own little world.

Grudges never last long between them; they mainly fight to get a rise out of each other, half the time Lola’s just looking to get slammed against a wall, and the rest of the time, it’s mainly just because they like picking fights. The only things that sticks are arguments about bands; sometimes Lola sleeps or works with guys from bands that Nikki hates just to piss him off, and Nikki sleeps with groupies who hate Lola on sight and yet they get upset when she tells them to fuck off, and the singer of his band still actively hates her.

When Nikki tells her he’s going to start his own band, Lola admits that she’s missed coming to his gigs, and it hurts him a little to hear her so honest.

She’s the reason the band get into a fight at the Whiskey the night they break up; tensions are already high, Nikki telling them that it’s gonna be their last time playing together, and Lola’s come to see his final gig. She’s bopping along by the bar when the singer spots her, and God, Nikki knows the look in his eyes, like he’s gonna jump off the stage and use the mic stand like a bat.

“Get off her fucking case,” he barks over the music, and the singer turns on him, in front of the crowd.

“Fuck you, is she the reason you’re acting like a dumb fuck? Ruining something good?” He accuses, and Nikki snaps.

“If you think we’re good enough to go anywhere you’re living in a fuckin’ delusion, asshole,” and it all goes downhill from there. A fight breaks out, and it takes the drummer and guitarist dragging them apart for it to end, though Nikki can hear Lola cheering from the audience, yelling for Nikki to kick his ass.

“Shut the fuck up!” The singer hollers at her, and she flips him off, grinning wide enough to split her face. She’s decked out and dressed up in her usual black leather and denim attire, and he’s never seen her look so thrilled around other people. She’s beaming, and he can see the way she’s bouncing, how she’s moving her hands, the telltale signs that she’s cracking her knuckles, Nikki can’t help but grin, despite the bruise he can already feel forming on his face.

The set only lasts one more song before the singer storms off stage. Lola’s out the side door only a few moments before Nikki, and when the band’s finished packing up their gear, she’s waiting by the stage door with the rest of the crowd of groupies.

“Lola.” Nikki barks her name the moment she sees them leaving, before she can say anything to the singer. “Help me load my shit.” He tells her, and she looks put out for the barest moment before slipping inside to comply easily, still alert and thrumming with energy.

She rolls leads like a pro, looping them over her arm, working studiously, and packing Nikki’s bass away as he and the guitarist move the amps into his van. The singer is pointedly not speaking to her, but there’s a tension in the air that they both know is going to snap. The moment the last of the equipment is packed away, Nikki thinks they’re in the clear, but the singer turns.

“Fuck you.” He spits, jabbing a finger at Lola’s chest. She doesn’t even flinch.

“Fuck me yourself, bitch,” she shoves him back, and he seems stunned by her answer enough so that she can turn and nod to Nikki, making for the van. He’s a little bit proud of her, thinks they might be able to get away without it getting physical, but then he watches the singer recover and swing at Lola. He doesn’t have time to warn her and the singer doesn’t pull his punches; Lola head slams into the back of the van and she catches herself before she tumbles to the ground. Nikki goes to help, but Lola rights herself, and swings around. The singer’s anticipating a punch, and he catches her fist easily, but she knew this would happen, and, not afraid to play dirty, knees him in the groin when he thinks he has the upper hand. The guitarist goes in to help the singer, and so Lola punches him in the throat, and kicks the singer in the gut, leaning in to land a solid punch on his jaw where he’s cowering and spitting curses at her and Nikki knows the have to get out of here or else it’s gonna turn into a brawl and they’ll have to spend the night in holding or in hospital, instead of trying to put together a band.

When he closes his hand around her upper arm, she almost punches him too, reflexively, turning and moving on instinct, but she stops before striking, and for a split second he sees the burning anger and hatred in her eyes, the fuel she used to take out the singer and guitarist, who was now choking on air, helping the singer to his feet. Nikki thinks he might feel his heart stop in his chest with the intensity she’s looking at him with. But then she huffs out a breath, panting from the sudden adrenaline, and she gets into the van, swift as anything.

They’re out of there in moments, parking a few blocks away at the diner with the waitresses who like them. Lola’s shaking, breathing hard, nose bleeding with a bruise forming on her forehead.

“You’re bleeding.” Nikki tells her, and Lola just grins.

“Does it look cool?” She grins, though she’s fishing around in her pockets, and after Nikki tells her it does, her smile brightens, and she pulls out a baggie of pills. “At least it’s worth it, hurts like a bitch.” She admits with a chuckle, tipping a few of the pills into her hand. For a moment, she scrutinises them, before dry swallowing the lot. She offers the rest to Nikki, who takes a few, doesn’t even ask what they are. They scramble from the van, but before they can go into the diner, Nikki stops her, his hands on her hips, presses her gently against the van with an amused smile. Raising an eyebrow at him, she stands a little taller, waits for whatever this is.

“Do you think your face dented my van?” He asks, half smirking as he wipes the trickle of blood from her lip, and Lola laughs, already coming down from the adrenaline.

“‘course you only care about the -”

He cuts her off with a kiss, his arms around her as she winds her arms around his neck. He has to bend a little, but there’s something endearing about the way Lola bounces up on her toes to meet him. It’s strange, so unlike everything that’s come before, not angry nor in the middle of a heated moment, it’s sweet, and the night air is cool against Lola’s skin and the kiss tastes sharp, like iron and beer and the residue of the drugs they’d both taken, but it’s never been like this; just about the kiss, not about the before or after, just the moment.

“I’m sorry,” Lola breathes as she leans away, and Nikki’s pretty sure he’s never heard her genuinely apologise in her life, “I’m sorry if I ruined a good thing for you; their,” she paused for a moment, shifting a little ash she avoided his gaze, and he doesn’t know how to ask her to stop, ask her to meet his gaze and not look away, “their music wasn’t shit.” She admitted. For a moment he’s caught up, because firstly now _, fucking now_ , after she’s kicked the singer while he was down, she decides to apologise.

And secondly, she doesn’t even need to; the band ruined it for themselves by being assholes.

“Lo,” Nikki says it like he’s confused she’s even bringing it up, “those guys were fucking dicks,” and he pauses like he he wants to say something else, like it’s on the tip of his tongue, shining in his eyes, like he’s on the verge of saying it.

Like he wants to tell her  _she’s_ a good thing.

But he can’t.

Instead he presses his lips to hers again, quick and rough, and he tells her it was hot to see her kick the shit out of the singer as they head into the diner, pushing down those sappy feelings as he asks for a paper and a booth and the drugs start to kick in. Lola slides in first, with Nikki beside her; he could have sat opposite her, but it’s an instinctual thing; he wants her to be close.

The drugs effect everyone differently of course, Nikki still feels relatively alert, but by the time the kid calling himself a drummer, calling himself Tommy sits with them, Lola’s napping with her head resting on her arms on the table. Halfway through their conversation, after dropping off Nikki’s jack and coke, the waitress makes a sharp remark about Lola’s nose bleeding on the table and Nikki cuffs her on the back of the head. Spluttering into the land of the living, Lola uses napkins to wipe her blood from the table and from her arm and she messily wipes at her nose, before leveling a glassy gaze at Tommy. There’s a bruise on her forehead.

“Are you okay?” Tommy asks, and Lola, groggy and high as hell, curls her lip at him.

“Fuck you,” she spits, and Nikki says her name like a warning, “fuck you too.” Is what she has to say in response. Nikki rolls his eyes. She’s always in a terrible mood when she gets woken up while high.

“Wait you- you’re the chick from the crowd, right? The one who the singer told to shut up?” And Tommy looks so excited to recognise her. Lola just squints at him, and he watches, unnerved as her nose keeps bleeding, very slowly. He starts spinning his drumstick, and Lola can’t help but smile as she watches. She hums approvingly, nudging Nikki and he nods; Lola’s head tips to the side and she wipes at her nose more thoroughly this time, and Tommy finally gets a good look at her, at the piercings and the studded leather and the undercut.

“Fuck, dude, wait- you’re  _Lola_ , aren’t you? Lola Gone and Nikki fucking Sixx, this is killer!”

And Nikki knows the moment Tommy’s earnest nature has won Lola over because she’s smiling a smile he knows all too well; it’s sharp and sweet, how she was managing to be so easily confident even now was beyond him. It’s her fly trap smile, and he’s yet to see someone resist it, even himself. Though it only lasts a moment before she drops her back onto her arms, something about seeing her turn it on someone else, even briefly, it leaves a bitter taste in Nikki’s mouth.

But he liked the look of Tommy, and so he gave him their address, told him to come around and jam the next day if he was up for it, and Tommy looked unbelievably ecstatic. Tommy heads out not long after that, and Nikki and Lola head back home once Nikki had the numbers of the guitarists he’d wanted to call.

As they drove, Lola was coming back to herself, getting a second wind, and perhaps it was the fight from earlier, or seeing the way she so easily took a liking to Tommy, Nikki wanted to remind her how good he could make her feel. To say he was successful in that, between the hypersensitivity and adrenaline from the drugs, and how he knew her like the back of his hand, that was an understatement.

Nikki’s the first up, but he lays there for a while, just wrapped up in the warmth of Lola’s body against his, and if he was jealous last night, he’s definitely been sated. But it’s nice; she’s a strange mix of soft and tough, and he traces the ridges of her scars on her back until the feeling has her blinking awake. It’s not hostile, she’s not hesitant to let him touch her like this like she once was, instead there’s something indescribable in her eyes, and she presses her forehead to his chest, sighing gently and tucking herself close to him. They don’t speak; it’s a soft moment, a thing they don’t allow themselves often, and she moves, pressing a kiss to his sternum, her hand on his cock.

They fuck slow and sweet in the morning light, and Nikki makes mention that he’s got a drummer coming over, and Lola laughs, mentions that she should probably take a shower, that they both should. But she’s still in his lap, leaning in to kiss him, and god they’re not dating, they’re not together, but he doesn’t remember feeling like this about a girl before and he’s wondering if it’s because this is  _right_  or if it’s  _so terribly wrong_. He doesn’t think about it.

Lola’s in the shower when Tommy arrives, and they’re already loading his stuff in when she’s getting dressed, though neither she nor Tommy was yet to realise the other was here.

“Nikki, are we out of sliced cheese?” A surprisingly familiar voice calls out through the apartment as Tommy’s carrying in his snare drum, and he freezes when he sees the woman from the night before, Lola. Actually, he doesn’t realise who it is right away, her hair’s wet from a recent shower, pulled into a braid, and her face is free of the dark, intimidating makeup, and all she’s wearing is a bright yellow cropped jersey and a pair of baby pink panties; it’s a far cry from the leather and spikes look she had been sporting last night. She’s got a bruise on on her forehead and across her nose, and also one on her inner thigh that Tommy recognises too late as a hickey; he averts his gaze, quickly turning red.

“Do I know you?” Lola frowns, and it’s then that it clicks in Tommy’s head.

“Lola; you’re Lola Gone, we met last night,” and his face lights up and she frowns, humming.

“Yeah, I know who I am. When last night? From the show or after?” And she’s moving through to the kitchen as she speaks, opening up the fridge and looking inside as Tommy put down his drum and moved to one of the stools by the kitchen bench.

“After; at the diner, with Nikki, don’t you remember?” He asks, and Lola hums again, thoughtful this time. She closes the fridge, but not before she pulls out a bottle of beer for herself; twisting the cap off, she looks at him, and looks past him.

“Nikki, we’re out of -” She calls, but is quickly cut off.

“You’re the only one who likes that shit, why are you asking me?” Nikki grumbles, bass drum in his arms as he walks into the room. “Also, we’ve got company.” He nodded to Tommy and carefully put down the drum, joining the younger man by the kitchen.

“I noticed.” Lola clicked her tongue, looking between the two of them, “and I was asking the first time around, this time I’m telling you; we’re out of sliced cheese. Why is he in our house?” She asks abruptly, and Tommy’s eyebrows rose at her bluntness. “He says we met last night at our diner; I’m not gonna lie, I can’t remember shit after getting there;” she pauses, tipping her head from side to side, “apart from a few things from getting home.” She takes a long sip from her beer, eyebrows raised as she waits for an answer.

“He’s gonna drum for the band if he’s good enough-”

“I am, trust me,” Tommy piped up, grinning and already eager, before he leaned over the counter, offering his hand, “Tommy, by the way.” He thought it was better safe than sorry, considering she didn’t remember meeting him the first time around.

Her snake charmer of a smile is back, though it’s less intimidating this time around, though that was partially the drugs; mostly sober Lola knows how to modulate, how to manipulate. Case and point, Tommy’s flushing a little, wearing a goofy grin as she shakes his hand.

“I look forward to seeing what you’re made of,  _Tommy_.”


	8. blood in the cut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nikki sets boundaries (sort of), lola puts her fist through a window and deals with the consequences, tommy plays with fire, mick wants a nap, and vince and lola realise where they know each other from.

“It’s not my fault he has a cute face and nice ass!”

“You are un-fucking-believable,” Nikki informs Lola over breakfast, that was edging into lunch, given the time, and consisting of a ham and cheese sandwich. It’s a surprisingly decent meal given the usually empty state of their cupboards, “you can’t help yourself can you?” Lola’s forgone bread entirely, alternating eating slices of ham and cheese.

“What a load of bullshit, you’re such a hypocrite,” she wiggles a slice of cheese in his face, “you wouldn’t know what discretion was if it bit you on the ass.”

It’s been almost a full week since Tommy first joined the band, and while Lola’s not  _actively_ trying to sleep with him, she’s also not  _not_ trying to sleep with him, and Nikki’s half convinced it’s out of spite.

“I’m just saying, you don’t shit where you eat-” he groans, and Lola rolls her eyes.

“Of course not, I’m not an animal,” she packs away the food and puts it in the fridge, completely ignoring where Nikki’s quietly fuming.

“It’s a metaphor, dumbass, stop sleeping with my bandmates!” Nikki’s half ready to bang his head on the table out of frustration at her deliberate idiocy, and by her smile, Lola’s not in the mood to be cooperative.

“That sounds like a  _you_ problem, Niks.”

He watches through narrowed eyes as she takes a few pills from a bottle on top of the refrigerator, fills her bottle of water, and grabs her duffel bag from the sofa. She stops by the sofa, pulling up the straps of her sports bra so they sat higher on her shoulders. She’s smiling a little in that way that never meant anything good.

“It’s cute that you’re jealous, though,” she teases, and Nikki throws the remaining half of his sandwich at her as she leaves.

“If I got jealous over half the guys you fucked I’d be picking fights with most of LA,” he yells after her. To that, she actually stops. He watches her through the window where her posture’s gone rigid. There’s a beat, a single moment in time where Nikki realises that he’s being a colossal, hypocritical asshole, and then Lola whips around and puts her fist through the window, flipping him off while her hand bleeds. Retracting her hand, she glares through the new hole in the window.

“Those in glass houses,” she snarled, and stormed off, cradling her bloody hand.

By the time Tommy stops by for practice, bringing along a potential guitarist, Nikki’s gaff-taped the hole in the window, and has thrown the largest pieces of glass into the bin.

“Whoa, what happened there?” Tommy’s grinning, got his eyebrows raised as he looks at the damage that’s been inflicted; Nikki just seems to get more rock and roll every time Tommy sees him.

“Lola’s what happened.” Nikki glowers at the hole in the window before cracking open a beer and getting practice started.

His temper was significantly improved, however, by the time Mick Mars had shown up, and kicked the other guitarist out. He  _was_ right, the kid never would have made it, but just as they’re taking a break, talking about potential singers, the front door opens, and there’s Lola, hair pulled up into a ponytail, sweaty, cradling her bandaged hand.

“Hey Lola,” Tommy grins, and her hostility immediately softens as she gives him a smile.

“Hey,” she nodded to him, before giving Nikki an incomprehensible look that he took as an apology of sorts. Its not like he’d get a real one anyhow. She nods at Mick, without even questioning why he was in her house, and he scowls at her as she makes her way through to the kitchen. She takes a pill bottle from the top of the fridge and heads to the bathroom.

“You alright? We’re gonna go check out my friend’s band, Nikki’s just helping Mick pack up his amp,” Tommy’s too kind for his own good, when he comes to check on Lola, who’s been in the bathroom for  _far_ too long. To his surprise, the door is open, and Lola’s standing over the sink. Panic starts to set in when he sees her bloody hand, and the equally bloody bandage that had been wrapped around it.

“I’m fine, go away Tommy,” Lola says quietly, eyes squeezed shut, forehead against the glass of the mirror, hands braced against the edge of the sink. Stepping into the bathroom, however, Tommy’s eyebrows knit together as he sees tiny, glittering shards of glass in the sink, and the tweezers in her hand. Her knuckles are actively bleeding.

“Do you need help-?”

“I’m  _fine_ ,” she tried to insist, cracking her eyes open and moving to try and pull another tiny shard of glass from beneath her skin, but her hand was shaking too badly for her to be of any use. Tommy couldn’t help himself, turning on the tap and gently running her bloody hand under it; Lola didn’t protest, she just sighed deeply, letting her eyes fall closed.

“You should have gone to hospital to get glass removed,” he sounds surprisingly mature as he dries her hand with toilet paper, taking the tweezers from her.

“I got the biggest bits out; the rest wasn’t bothering me, it was fine,” she said, though her voice was tired. She hissed sharply as he pulled a piece from between two knuckles that was deeper than she’d initially realised. 

“I’m surprised you felt any of it,” he grinned a little, gaze flicked the to the pill bottle on the edge of the counter, and Lola scowled, “how high were you to put your fist through the window?”

“That’s not the point;” Lola insisted, though she stopped herself before she started ranting, instead watching Tommy, bright-eyed and focused, working diligently to pull glass from her hand. With a sigh, she conceded, “Nikki might have been right.”

“Nikki was right so you punched a window?”

“No, Nikki was right, but then he called me a slut, so  _then_  I punched the window.” And before Tommy can even interject, whether it’s to be confused or to put his foot in his mouth, Lola cut him off, “and yeah, I  _am_ a slut, but he’s a damn hypocrite; he’s got some fuckin’ nerve.” She clicked her tongue, eyes falling closed. Tommy laughed a little, running her hand under the water again to clean it off.

“Dad would be so pissed at me,” Lola mutters under her breath, quiet enough that Tommy barely caught it, but before he can ask, her free hand is fumbling with the pill bottle. “You want any?” She asks, offering it easily.

“Uh, what is it?” Tommy’s brows furrow and Lola’s heart softens a little.

“Molly, you don’t have to have any if you don’t-” but before she’s even finished he’s agreeing, still holding her injured hand as he holds out his hand for her to hand him a pill. He swallows it easily and finishes up his work, washing the shards of glass down the sink.

“Do you guys have any bandages or anything?” He asks, and she can tell by the hesitation in his voice and the way he’s looking around the dingy bathroom that he expects the answer to be no. Instead, she kneels down to her duffel bag and pulls out a roll of gauze, much to Tommy’s pleasant surprise. “Listen, I don’t know how to do this, I’m just-” and he’s fumbling with the gauze. Lola’s smile is fond and soft when she takes it from him hands, wrapping up her now glass-free hand with the same practiced efficiency that she set up band equipment.

He looks on with raised eyebrows, but she doesn’t explain herself, instead she grabs athletic tape from her bag and secures it. When she finally meets his gaze, his expression brightens.

“Better?”

“Much, thanks to you,” her smile is surprisingly genuine, and Tommy drops the tweezers onto the counter and turns away to hide his faint blush, because he’s still fairly convinced she’s Nikki’s girlfriend and he likes this band too much to fuck it up.

“Well,” and he walks out into the living room, Lola following behind, though she heads to the kitchen to grab herself a drink, “I mean I do a lot of stupid shit, but I’ve never fucked up my hand doing something as cool as punching through a window.” He’s laughing now, a little self deprecating as he picks up his own beer, sitting behind his drums. “I feel like I get more rock and roll just  _being_ here.”

The moment Nikki steps back inside, he casts his gaze from Tommy to Lola, and she gives him a sunny smile, all of the earlier anger and resentment seemingly forgotten; he seemed unnerved. Tommy shoots Lola a grin as he heads out to the car at Nikki’s insistence, but Nikki just stands by the door as he passes, frowning.

“Okay,” Lola concedes once the drummer is out of earshot, “I get, with my track record and everything, why you think me hooking up with him is a bad idea,” and Nikki’s wearing a grimace, mouth half open like he wants to say something, but Lola’s not going to give him an opening, “but it’s not going to be like last time if -  _if_ \- I  _do_ end up,  _you know,_ ” Lola’s making incoherent hand gestures that mostly get her point across, but Nikki doesn’t seem convinced, “though if it  _really_ means that much to you, I’ll be on my best behaviour; I won’t even flirt. For now.” At least that gets him to smile. His shoulders relax a little, there’s maybe even something close to gratefulness in his expression.

“Your hand okay?”

“Yeah, Tommy got the rest of the glass out,” Lola held up her bandaged hand, making her way over to him. From outside, Mick beeps his horn impatiently. “How’s the guitarist?”

“Weird as fuck but damn if he doesn’t shred,” Nikki snickered, “I’d better head off, dude’s not one to fuck around and if I don’t go with them he’ll probably end up killing Tommy.”

“After just a day?”

Nikki gives an amused, lopsided smile that says everything, and Lola nods, before bouncing up onto her toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. It takes her a moment to realise what’s happened, to note that she’s never done that before, never so sweet or casual, but he doesn’t seem to notice like she does, and she moves on quickly.

“Well go stop a murder, I’m gonna take a nap,” and with that they go their separate ways. Lola, true to her word, does crash, strips out of her work out clothes, showers, and pulls on the first shirt she finds that seems mostly clean, drifting off to sleep after half a cup of whiskey.

She absolutely  _fully_ intends to keep her promise to Nikki; she wouldn’t sleep with any of his bandmates. He seems thrilled at the prospect of the new singer, he might not agree with the guy’s look, but the guy had the girls in the audience of a back-yard pool party almost creaming themselves, apparently, which seemed to bode well for both him and the band.

“You’d love him,” Nikki snorts, smirking at her where she’s applying her makeup for her bump in job that night, and Lola closes her hand mirror with a snap, giving him a light shove.

“I already told you I’m not gonna fuck your band,” she rolls her eyes at him, smiling as she rifles through her bag for her lipstick.

But the next day, Lola comes back from boxing the same way she does every Sunday, hair tied back, wearing the neon athletic gear in teal and purple, the only colours available when she’d shoplifted them a few months prior, needing a beer and a nap. But there’s music coming from the other side of the apartment door that sounds pretty damn incredible.

The minute she steps inside, the blonde at the microphone stops singing, confused by the intrusion, and the girl on the sofa gets up.

“Hey Lola, your hand any better?” Tommy asks as the music stumbles to a halt. He, however, doesn’t get a response, as the woman cocks her hip, arches an eyebrow, and gives Lola an unimpressed look over.

“Excuse me but  _who_  are you?”

“Yeah, fuckin’ _excuse you,_ ” Lola scowls, dropping her duffel bag by the door, crossing her arms, “I live here, who the fuck are you?” Nikki laughs but has to hide it behind a cough. Before the girl can even answer, Lola steps forwards, “why are you in my apartment-?” She turns to the band, gesturing to the blonde, “why the fuck is she in my apartment?”

Nikki’s turned away to hide the outright grin on his face, and Tommy’s barely holding one back. Mick looks like he wants a nap. Tommy just gestures helplessly to the blonde singer, who doesn’t seem to be enjoying this one bit.

“I’m Beth,” the woman finally speaks up, “Vince’s girlfriend, and you are?” She’s not lost the demanding, defensive edge to her tone, and Lola turns to the singer, who must be Vince, and Lola’s hit with the strangest sense of deja vu. She knows she knows him from somewhere, but she can’t put her finger on  _where_ exactly, and he’s looking at her like he’s thinking the exact same thing.

“Do I know you?” Vince asks, ignoring Beth’s huff as she sits back down, put out. “I feel like I know you.” He gives her a confused but relatively warm smile.

“Many people do,” Lola pushes through the uncertainty to give a tight smile, offering her hand, “Lola Gone.” He shakes it, introduces himself as Vince Neil, and there’s another beat; she’s pretty sure his name means something to her but she can’t for the life of her place why.

“Well,” Lola drops his hand, looking around at the mixture of amused and confused looks they’re getting, “I’m gonna have a shower.” Beth looks like she wants to say something, but wisely stays quiet as Lola closes the front door and heads through to the bathroom. After showering, she heads directly for a nap, waking only when the front door slams closed, and she realises the music’s stopped.

Beth’s gone home when Lola surfaces to get herself dinner, which was just some ham on toast, while the band begins brainstorming names and songs and their look. It’s all  _fine,_ she leaves them be, gets herself a drink and takes a few pills, but then Tommy calls that he sees a cockroach and is asking where Nikki keeps the hairspray, and then there’s the rush of flames and Lola drops and smashes one of the few plates they have.

“Lo?” Nikki calls; Tommy’s still going after the roach, though the other three are looking over to the kitchen.

“Fine,  _fine_ ,” she calls, dropping down and picking up what pieces she can with shaking hands, with Tommy crowing victorious in the other room. It’s quiet for a few moments before Vince announces he’s going to get another beer, and he steps into the kitchen to see Lola, on the floor, with her forehead pressed against the cabinet, breathing deeply.

“You alright?” He asks, quiet and awkward as he opens the fridge, pulling out a beer.

“Yeah- I,” she gives him a smile before putting the shards of the plate into the bin, standing. He’s close now, much closer than when she’d first met him in the apartment, the shoebox kitchen barely big enough for two people. She’s getting that feeling again, like she knows him. He’s reaching past her for the bottle opener when he catches a glimpse of the scarring on her shoulder where Nikki’s shirt that she’d been wearing is slipping off a little.

And then it hits him.

“I  _do_ know you.” He’s so sure of it that it’s a little worrying. “We did blow together after a gig at the Starwood.” And he’s pointedly  _not_ mentioning what else they did, still unsure as to how she fits into this whole dynamic, but he can see it on her face as she starts to remember.

“You’re the Rock Candy singer,” Lola nods, expression carefully neutral, despite the blush about her ears.

“That I am,” he agrees, before reconsidering, “well, I was.” And he gives a tentative smile, which Lola returns, already amused at the irony of the promise she’d made the previous day. It’s a quiet moment that follows, neither of them seem sure what to say or how to act, but Lola knows the way his eyes are sparkling, now that he remembers exactly who she is, that it can only lead to mischief. And she’s trying so hard to be good.

“How long does it take to get a fuckin’ beer? We’re waiting here.” Mick calls, and Lola cracks, laughing at Vince’s exasperation as he heads back into the living room, biting out a retort and rolling his eyes, grabbing the bottle opener from the table.

“Everything okay, Lo?” Nikki calls, though he sounds distracted, and she knows he’s excited to be finally at this stage with his  _own damn band_.

“Things are great, Niks, but the cockroaches have taken my dinner,” she sighs, throwing her toast in the bin too. Tommy goes to offer his services with the hairspray and the lighter, but Lola’s sharp refusal at least makes him put the hairspray down, though he does look a little put out.

The three dark haired band members are all busy focusing on their notepads, trying to come up with a kickass band name around the coffee table, but Vince is watching Lola in the kitchenette, expression pensive, though there’s the hint of a smirk on his lips. Lola, for her part, gives him a small smile in return when she finally catches his gaze; Vince goes back to being invested in the band, and Lola finishes her dinner and heads back into bed to finish it off and pretend to read when she’s really stewing on everything that’s happened over the past few days.

She’s pretty sure she can’t be retroactively held accountable for her actions. Or, she muses, what Nikki doesn’t know won’t hurt him. The past is the past, and it won’t happen again.

Probably.

Maybe.


	9. mutually assured destruction is a girl’s best friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> songs are written, loopholes are found, it’s the start of something…. yeah i don’t know what adjective to add. is it something good? bad? indescribable? only time will tell.

Nikki’s already got a setlist’s worth of songs half-written before he’d even met Tommy, so in the weeks between the band’s formation and their first proper gig, it’s not hard to put their sound together. Lola moves in and out of the band’s space with a practiced ease, becoming a fixture at rehearsals, that is, when she’s not at work, or at the gym, or a gig. Sometimes if she’s working the Whiskey, they’ll join her after practice, or in a break if they’re bored enough.

She knows their songs well enough to hum along in the shower, knows enough about music to form an opinion about the bands she hears at the Whiskey.

Lola’s really come to enjoy the nights when the band visits her while she’s roadie-ing for another band, if only because she revels in the vaguely jealous, side-eye glances girls in the bar will give her, and because she’ll get her job done while the band talks amongst themselves around her; it’s not technically gossip, but she quietly enjoys being privy to little band secrets.

And she enjoys spilling those secrets the moment the information becomes pertinent.

“Fuck, they’re awful;” Tommy’s lip is curled in disgust, watching in horror as the stiff and bright synthpop band end one middling song and start up another, barely interacting with the crowd, or even acknowledging them, focused more on their instruments than their stage presence. The music was nothing to write home about it, but the crowd seemed to like them well enough.

“Yeah but they’re making bank,” Lola’s not even watching the band, instead gazing idly at the crowd with mild interest. Her gin and tonic is stronger than it probably should be, but that’s just a perk of being friends with the bartender, “they’re in talks with a label from Seattle, ain’t that right?” She grins at the bartender behind the bar, who’s drying a glass and looking a little uncomfortable being brought into the conversation. He confirms as much, though he doesn’t know about the Seattle bit is true, says there’s even a scout for the label there tonight.  _That_ gets their attention.

Bit by bit, the band, along with other folks who frequented bars around town, come to recognise Lola as a woman in the know around The Strip. She knows who’s playing where, where after parties are being held, and who’s going, but most importantly, at least to Nikki, who even now has his sights set high, who’s getting deals.

He always grumbles after she tells him, because there’s been such a push for synthpop on the radio and he’s sick of it. Complains that it’s not real music. Asks her why she even works with them when he knows she hates their music as much as he does. Fixing him with her sweetest, most harmless smile, Lola shrugs, and puts on her best valley girl accent, because she knows how much it annoys him.

“Well when I’m with the band I drink for free,” she fake giggles a little, “and I’m also the only one in this house paying rent, so, like… I’ll take whatever fucking jobs I can get.” She fixes him with a pointed stare, smile turning a little poisonous. Nikki rolls his eyes. Honestly, Lola doesn’t actually begrudge him that much; the place isn’t that expensive, it’s barely habitable as it is, and work keeps her busy; her day job sees her as the manager of the shitty hotel she’d started working at all those years ago, and moonlighting as a roadie has more benefits than detractors, easily.

But she likes the nights during the week where she doesn’t have to work, doesn’t have to go anywhere or do anything, but the band has practice. From the moment she met him, she knew Nikki was the sort of person to have good taste in music, and thankfully that extended to the stuff he wrote.

He seems to always be muttering lyrics to himself, hunched over his notebook, plucking out bass lines in the middle of the afternoon, always working on the next song. He doesn’t talk about what they’re about or who they’re for, not a lot. Some are pretty self evident;  _Live Wire_ and  _Take Me To The Top_  weren’t exactly too hard to decipher, but then she hears him tentatively singing the lyrics to  _Starry Eyes_ , to a melody he’s trying out, and it hits her square in the chest.

“What’s that one about?” She asks, sprawling out on the sofa after getting home from the gym, picking up the notebook from the table that he was frowning at as he picked out a riff on his bass.

“I - it just came to me,” he sounds focused, a little far away, but he won’t meet her eyes. She puts the book back down, doesn’t push the subject and  _mostly_ believes him, and lays back to take a nap, listening as Nikki figures out how he wants the song to go.

But when she closes her eyes, she sees the stars out the window that night that felt like years ago, when it’s really only months, she sees the way smoke hung in the air as Nikki passed her a the cigarette he’d lit a few moments before.

_“Where do you even wanna go, Lo?” He asks, an arm around her, taking the cigarette back from her as she considers his words, holds the smoke in her lungs, frowning._

_“Whaddya mean?” She asks in a rush, breathing the smoke out and shifting against him, moving so she could rest her chin on his chest, resting her arm over his stomach._

_“Like- what do you want to do? You don’t wanna be a roadie forever, you gonna join a band? Be a dancer or something? Get a shitty little desk job? Do you think about the future or any shit like that?” When he looks at her, sure his eyes are a little glassy, they’re both sort of out of it, but no more than any other night, but he’s tapping out a rhythm on her hip and Lola presses a smile against his chest at the question, dropping her gaze._

_“‘course I do,” she half laughs, “dude, I’m having the time of my life, shit can only go up from here; just gotta pick the right band at the right time and I could go anywhere I wanted.” And then she’s looking at him again, something soft in her eyes that Nikki doesn’t want to think about too hard. She gives him a squeeze, a cheeky smile. “That’s why I picked you.”_

_“_ London’s  _fucking falling apart,” Nikki dismisses, leaning his head back against the headboard, grimacing before taking another drag._

 _“I didn’t say I picked_ London _,” Lola rests her cheek against his chest, following the statement with a yawn, “I mean, at least until something better comes along,” and it’s mostly a joke, but Nikki can’t help but scoff._

 _“_ Yeah right, _” he mutters, “nice to know you’re just using me for a free ride when I make it big.” His heart’s not in it, and she can hear the amused smile in his voice despite his words._

_“I’m also using you for your body,” shooting for nonchalant in order to really sell the bit, there’s only a beat before they both start laughing, loud and bright and unselfconcious. Lola’s giggling through half-hearted apologies, propping herself up on her elbow, but Nikki likes having her close, likes her skin against his, and pulls her on top of him, kissing her to quiet her unneeded apologies. When he pulls back, she’s still laughing a little, and he presses the cigarette gently to her lips, holding it as she breathes in. It’s surprisingly intimate, and he stubs out the cigarette on the ash tray by the bedside table._

_Tipping her head back, she watches the smoke hang in the air, threading her fingers through Nikki’s hair as he presses his lips to her collar, and the memory fades to darkness._

And when she wakes up later that night, she wonders if he thinks of that night, or if he can remember it.

Then she wonders when Tommy arrived, since he’s sitting in the armchair holding a steady conversation with Nikki, who’s in the kitchen, the both of them drinking beers.

“How long have you been here?” She grumbles, rubbing sleep from her eyes to partially hide her grin at the way Tommy jumped in the chair.

“Fuck, dude, when did you wake up?” He asks, eyes wide. Lola yawns.

“Now; seriously, why didn’t anyone wake me?”

“I dunno man, you live here I figured you can sleep wherever you want and it’s not really any of my business.” Tommy shrugs helplessly, and takes a swig from his beer. Lola lets out a low hum and looks around the room, propping herself up a little, frowning. The notebook on the table is sitting open to a set of chords for  _Too Fast For Love_. Huh.

After she starts making conversation with Tommy, she doesn’t even remember what she’d been thinking about before her nap. He never outright says he wrote anything for her, but she has her suspicions. Though half the time Nikki’s insistent that he didn’t write about anything or anyone specific, but Lola still smirks like she doesn’t believe him, press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth as he frowns and doubles down on his argument despite the fact she hadn’t said anything.

She likes getting him riled up, flustered, though she still hasn’t been able to tell him that she’s slept with Vince. It’s not that she’s worried about what he’ll do; he can’t kick her out since he doesn’t pay rent, and it’s probably not the catalyst for a fight that would ruin their  _entire_ friendship. No, her fear lies in the fact that he’s  _so damn excited_ about this band and she doesn’t want to potentially ruin it before it even gets out of the starting gate.

Except that it’s also sort of none of his business?

He’s not the dictator of who she can and cannot sleep with, and technically -  _technically,_ she reasons - she only promised not to sleep with Tommy. Which she hasn’t. Actually, she’s started forming fast friendships with the band; Tommy’s the easiest, much to her surprise he’s bringing out mannerisms in her that she thought had died when she left home the first time; mentions of life behind a white picket fence that have her nostalgic and a little bit aching in equal measures. It’s easy to be open around him, it’s easy to be honest, and to smile like nothing bad had ever happened to her.

Where Nikki thinks life is a war, to be actively fought, Tommy seems to think life is a rollercoaster, and that he’s just along for the ride. Part of Lola wishes she could be that blase about the world.

But then there’s Mick, world weary and also just plain weary; he’s known ’ _girls like Lola_ ’ and seems to want very little to do with her when he first meets her.

“The fuck does that mean?” She’s already defensive, sitting on the arm of the sofa beside Tommy where they’d been figuring out the name of the band. Mick takes a long sip of his beer, casting his glowering gaze around the others. Nikki’s the only one who’s really paying attention, smirking and amused, while Tommy’s drawing something in his notebook and Vince seems to have zoned out.

“You know  _exactly_ what I mean, girlie.” Is all he says. Nikki stifles a laugh.

“Oh piss off, geezer,” she snaps, and storms off to the bedroom, throwing - “and fuck you too, Sixx,” over her shoulder as Nikki can’t hold in his laughter anymore.

Mick asks if she’s always going to be around, and Nikki’s smile edges from amused to fond as he says that she’s going to be their roadie. Mick sighs very deeply. He does, however, form a grudging respect for her once the band stops by early to see her at work, for everyone’s benefit but Nikki, who’d seen her at work many times. She’s ruthlessly efficient and follows directions well; Mick has much less of a problem with her after that, and at Nikki  _and_ Tommy’s behest, Lola’s kind to him in return.

And, well, things with Vince  _start_ innocent. Sort of. He’s so easy to befriend, loud and bright, such a natural performer, entertainer, a social butterfly. But it’s like he’s trying to get her to like him, gives her offhanded compliments, something about her earrings, or her jacket, maybe her boots, perfectly fine and innocent, but Lola  _knows_. It’s there in his grin after she does a goofy pose to show off whatever he’s drawn attention to, there in his pleased little smile after she pays him a compliment of her own. They trade teasing remarks until the teasing becomes flirting, well, flirting with an edge; Lola doesn’t seem to do things without an edge much anymore.

And that suited Vince just fine.

It only takes a week and a half for him to realise that there was nothing formal, nothing  _relationship-esque_ between Lola and Nikki, and she’s a damn breath of fresh air compared to Beth. And so when the band goes to scout out the competition, the bands that Lola roadies for, he knows a few things are guaranteed. Mick claims to have no interest and finds the darkest corner to haunt, Nikki is almost always glowering at the band, seeing as how they’re almost universally not his style, and therefore  _terrible_ in his eyes, and Tommy’s watching the girls in the mosh, and drinks until he’s pretty sure he won’t feel it if he gets slapped, before ditching the band for whatever pretty girl will agree to fuck him in the bathroom. Vince would probably join him on any other night, or be with Beth, but he likes this game of whatever it is they’re playing.

He’s still not  _quite_ sure of the nature of her relationship with Nikki, judging by how discrete she keeps things, but it seems to be something she’s good at, and honestly, Vince won’t complain. So he’s got his hand on her thigh, and she’s playing devil’s advocate for the band that Nikki’s glaring at, though the bassist is too revolted to argue back, so it falls on Vince to try and defend his bandmate’s stance. Nikki joins Mick after about fifteen minutes, only staying to humour Tommy.

“You only hate them because you know you’d look better than they do in the same clothes,” Lola’s smile is all teeth, sharp and amused, and Vince scoffs, though he’s smiling at the slight compliment, his thumb rubbing soft circles against her thigh; it’s the third time they’ve come by, and Vince is pretty sure it’s just an excuse to drink at somewhere that’s not the grubby little flat. Usually she’d be in jeans, but it was close to the middle of summer, and she’d forgone the jeans for a skirt, and it felt like there was something different about tonight even beyond that.

“No shit, I absolutely would, but there’s no way I’d be caught dead in that-”

“That’s rich,” she turns sharply on the barstool to face him, and he was close enough that now he’s standing practically between her legs, “given some of the costumes you lot have come up with,” and there’s no malice, nothing but a teasing edge to her words, leaning one elbow on the bartop.

“We look like rockstars, like real rockstars;” he’s got both his hands on her thighs now, and Lola looks like she’s biting back a laugh at his rather genuine indignance, “they look like Jackson Pollock’s neon nightmare.” He watches her for a reaction, but the reference passes right over her head, brow furrowing a little in confusion, “they look awful.” He clarified, leaning in a little, “and babe, they sound it too.” His voice is low, obviously feeling bold as his nails graze higher until he’s brushing at the hem of her skirt and that’s enough to bring Lola back into the conversation, in a manner of speaking.

Looking over her shoulder, Lola’s eyes are quick to spot Nikki heading from the bar, tailed by a weary looking Mick, and when she looks back, her smile is  _dangerous_.

“We’ve probably got about ten minutes before he stops ranting to Mick and realises he’s left you and Tommy behind, and that he can’t finish practice without you,” she says, with the air of someone who’s been through this far too often. Vince’s brow creases, and he leans back a little.

“Are you guys together?” He asks, not necessarily antsy, just curious. Lola rolls her eyes, and already that’s answer enough.

“We fuck but there’s nothing romantic about it,” she snorts, though she avoids his gaze; it’s the first time she’s admitted it out loud to anyone, really, “I just promised not to fuck around with his band again.” She chuckles, before her eyes meet his, like she’s challenging him, like she’s daring him to call out her history. Instead, he steps into her space, smirking, a hand holding her jaw.

“He’s gonna have to deal with it, because the band’s gonna be great; and this?” He’s surprisingly gentle when he kisses her, tasting like beer and smelling like hairspray and she’s got her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, “this isn’t any of his damn business.”

Ten minutes isn’t a lot of time for anything, but it’s enough time for Lola to locate the side door of the pub and to get on her knees in the breezy summer air with Vince’s hands fisted in her hair. She makes herself scarce once he’s come and Nikki’s looking for the two member of the group he’d left behind; she’s too giddy to not look guilty.

When she comes home at the end of the night, well past midnight, Mick’s gone home and the other three are laying about, drinking and deciding on whether or not to see if someone better was playing further along The Strip.

“No afterparty tonight?” Nikki asks, and Lola gives him a little, subdued smile, leaning against the back of the armchair where Vince was slouched, though she’s pointedly not looking at him.

“Nope, I’m calling it early; they had four quad boxes and no damn upper body strength between them.”

Both Nikki and Tommy booed as a show of support, and Vince joins in with them as they’re calling the band a string of probably unwarranted insults, and Lola laughs, soft and actually a little endeared, heading to the bathroom to wipe of her makeup.

“Fuck, alright whatever, I’m gonna call it a night too, see you guys at practice,” Nikki stands and stretches, nodding to the other two. Vince hums something about calling Beth from the payphone to pick him up, and Tommy asks for a ride home, and they’re vacating not long after, calling out goodbyes to both Nikki and Lola.

Things don’t feel much different the next day. She and Vince share an amused little smile as she shuffles about the apartment half-asleep when the guys arrive for rehearsal. She’s wearing one of Nikki’s shirts that shows off a dark hickey on her collar that hadn’t been there yesterday, and Nikki’s got a matching one on his hip that Vince only spots when he reaches for a beer in the cabinet over the sink - the kitchen layout continues to baffle everyone  _but_ Nikki and Lola - and his shirt comes up enough to expose it.

Vince thinks he’s coming to realise what Mick means when he says  _'girls like Lola_ ’, but, honestly, he can’t for the life of him figure out why that’s a bad thing.


	10. go hard or go home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> motley crue’s first gig is a resounding success. apart from the bar brawl, of course.

It’s like she can’t turn a corner without seeing a flyer or four plastered all over phone poles and walls all along The Strip. She knows Nikki and Tommy spent an entire day going around, putting them up, and so she curbs the impulse she gets to tear them all down. Not because she’s trying to sabotage them, it’s just an idle impulse she gets whenever she sees one of the posters dogeared in the wind, as if begging to be ripped down.

“Is the staple gun ours?” Lola asks, picking up one of the flyers that had still yet to be put up. One of Mick’s friends had taken the photo for them a few weeks beforehand, not long after the band had formed. When she gets no response from her housemate, who she’s pretty sure is in the bathroom, tossing the flier and letting it flutter to the ground, she calls the question again, and picks up the staple gun itself.

“Tommy said it was his dad’s,” Nikki calls back from the bedroom instead, and when he finally walks into the living room, Lola’s frowning at the staple gun.

“How much would I have to pay you to let me staple you?”

“Nothing, if you let me staple you,” Nikki answers without missing a beat, his eyes a little glazed over and unfocused, and that’s good enough for Lola, who troops over to him like a woman on a mission.

“Tommy needs to get out of his parent’s house,” Lola mutters, resting the staple gun gently against Nikki’s upper arm, firing before he could respond. Though he tries to stay stoic, Lola can see him wince, before she turns the device over.

“ _We_ have a spare room, would be far more convenient for band practice- hold still I wanna try something.” Nikki muses for a moment, sweeping Lola’s hair over to once side. Before she can protest, he’s frowning deep in concentration, one hand holding her upper arm steady, the staple gun pressed to the shell of her ear, careful to avoid her piercings-

“What the fuck?!” As soon as the gun goes off, she wrenches herself from his grip, tears pricking her eyes as her hand went to feel her now searing ear, “you stapled my ear to my fucking head?” Nikki looks like he can’t quite believe he’d managed it, wearing a surprised grin in the face of Lola’s fury. Snatching the staple gun from his hands, she shoves and crowds him backwards until he’s stumbling onto the sofa.

“I didn’t think you’d feel it,” Nikki admits, letting himself get shoved around as Lola sat herself in his lap and turned his head to the side.

“Does it look like Vince and his blow have shown up? No? Well it takes a lot more than what I’ve taken so far to not feel a staple go through cartilage,” she all but growls, repeating the process that he’d inflicted upon her. He hisses, clutching at his own ear, grimacing. She lets his face go and puts the staple gun back on the table, but doesn’t get off his lap.

“Fuckin’ hurts, doesn’t it?” She mutters, much gentler this time when she takes his arm and yanks out the first staple. Nikki’s still got one hand to his ear, watching as Lola fumbles and winces as she awkwardly pulls the staple from her own ear.

Vince and Tommy see fit to barge in only a few moments later, while Lola’s telling Nikki to hold still, trying to pull the staple out of  _his_ ear, while Nikki’s marvelling at her bloody ear, and how the staple managed to go all the way through.

“Are we interrupting?” Vince asks, eyebrows raised, half smirking, but after a beat of stunned silence, Lola yanks out the staple and Nikki swears under his breath, holding his ear again as she holds the tiny piece of metal triumphantly above herself.

“Can you pass me the box of tissues?” Lola asks the two dumbfounded boys by the door, nodding at the kitchen counter. Tommy complies easily, eager to be doing something, and Vince flops into the armchair, watching with interest as Nikki keeps trying to move her ear so he can see where the staple went through on the other side.

“Fuck off, that hurts,” Lola slaps his hand away for the third time, and feels Tommy nudge the tissue box into her back. Finally climbing off of Nikki, she takes the tissues with a gentle thanks and sits next to him on the sofa, cleaning up the thin trail of blood that had been slowly making it’s way down her jaw.

“How does that hurt? You’ve got a thousand piercings,” Nikki crows, snatching a few tissues of his own to clean up his arm and ear, while Vince and Tommy still seemed at a loss.

“And every one of them hurt! I didn’t lose feeling in my damn ear-”

“Did you  _staple_ your ears?” Tommy finally asks, his expression playing jump-rope between awed and horrified; Nikki and Lola share a look, and it’s as if a whole unspoken conversation goes down between them in only moments, both glaring at each other

“I just wanted to see if I could pierce her ear with the staple gun,” Nikki admits with surprising, and foolish honesty.

“That’s what you were-  _you stapled my_ ear  _to my_ head!” Lola fires back, almost disbelieving, standing abruptly, patting down her pockets, with one hand, holding the tissues to her head with the other, “I need a fucking smoke.” Nikki offers her one from a packet in his pocket, and she thanks him quietly; making it obvious that neither was actually that mad at the other, that things like this were a strangely regular occurrence.

She’s runs into Mick on her way out, catching Vince’s question of ’ _Do you guys ever think before you do things?_ ’ but not Nikki’s answer. She can’t help but smirk as she makes her way down the stairs and heads into town.

When it finally comes time to give them their five minute call for their first gig the following night, Lola’s the only one who’s seen the crowd. She’d been the last one out there, running leads and making sure everything was plugged into where it was supposed to, left to her work by the boys who all went to get prepped in the green room before most of the crowd had arrived.

“So you think anyone’s gonna be out there tonight?” Vince asks, sitting back beside the mirror Nikki was teasing his hair in.

“We put up enough fliers, I hope so,” Nikki muses, watching his own reflection in the mirror before flicking to Lola standing in the doorway, poised to knock. “Everything set up okay?” Nikki asks, and Lola’s expression turns from hesitant to wry.

“You’re lucky I like you guys, I usually charge thirty bucks for a job this good,” she smirks, before telling them that they’re due to start in five minutes. After a moment, she lets herself take in all their attire; sure she’d seen sketches, seen pieces laying around the apartment, seen Nikki trying on his costume, but never with all the hair and makeup; never with all of them together like this.

“You guys look-” she’s searching for an adjective, some way to describe them that encapsulates exactly how she feels, how much she’s enjoying the aesthetics of it all and how kick ass they’re gonna look on stage, but it’s hard. Nikki raises an eyebrow at her in the reflection of the mirror, Vince is drinking from the bottle of Jack Daniels, Mick’s just watching her curiously, and Tommy’s spinning his drumstick, wearing both a mesh glove, and a fingerless leather glove on the same hand, grinning wide enough to split his face, so excited to just be here, “perfect. Fucking perfect.” It comes out far more honest than she intends it to. She can feel the blush creeping up the back of her neck as she drags her traitorous, endeared gaze from Tommy’s sunny smile. Her grin turns to something wry, something proud, “you look exactly like Motley Crue should.”

And for the barest moment, she catches Nikki’s gaze in the reflection of the mirror, and there’s genuine affection in his eyes, behind his smirk.

“Hell yeah we do;” and he turns to the rest of the band, standing and grabbing the bottle of Jack from Vince, “you guys ready to kick some ass?” Later, about fifteen minutes from now, Lola will look back on this statement and laugh her fucking head off.

They’re not nervous when they walk on stage, at least, not visibly. Nikki’s in boots that come up to his thighs, that make Lola think unholy thoughts, and also feel like an idiot for thinking those things; dressed the way he’s dressed, the mesh, the leather, the shiny red boots, and hairspray, he’s prettier than she is. They all are. She’s a little proud.

The crowd seems unconvinced; the guy at the bar next to Lola actually scoffs and she shoots him a dirty look. When Tommy accidentally knocks over one of his cymbals, the asshole next to her laughs, and she snaps at him to be quiet. It takes her a beat to consider, but she realises she’s actually nervous for them; she had been too young to care about  _London_ , or  _Sister_ , but  _Motley Crue_ was Nikki’s brain child, and for  _his_ sake, she knew it needed to go well.

For the barest moment, the mouth of the asshole beside her hangs like he wants to retaliate, but then he takes in the sight of her, spikes and metal and leather, and the way she’s filled with barely contained nervous energy of her own, and he thinks better of it, lip curling in a sneer, but he stays quiet.

But it still all goes to shit.

The crowd’s jeering and booing despite the solid instrumentals the band was already pumping out, and someone in the crowd asks ’ _who’s the chick singer_ ’. Nikki looks tense, looks angry, but not nearly as fed up as Vince, who leans past the mic to tell the dude in the audience ’ _fuck you_ ’. Lola’s gritting her teeth, holding her gin and tonic so tight she’s sure the glass is close to cracking. The guy in the crowd spits on Vince’s pants -  _white leather_ too, Lola knows they’re probably expensive - and the rest is a blur of violence and outrage.

Nikki’s wielding his bass like a fucking axe, Vince gets decked almost the moment he leaves the stage, and Tommy’s positively beaming as he full on leaps into the fray. Lola downs her drink with the determined resignation of someone with twice her life experience, catching the moment someone heads for Mick and he kicks them away with the same annoyance as someone swatting a fly. Her now empty glass gets thrown at the guy who’s spat at Vince, and she lands one solid punch on one of his friends before bouncers start dragging people out of the way. Nikki’s already shrugging the security off, clambering back on stage, but Lola turns to see Tommy pinning a guy, hitting him hard. There’s security advancing on him, but Lola’s closer, wrapping her arms around his middle, dragging his skinny ass off the dude from the audience.

“Get the fuck off of me!” Tommy demands, thrashing about, excited and furious in equal measure; “fuck you!” Lola cops an elbow to the face but just drags him to the stage, grip on him tight enough to be painful. “Fuck you, dude!” He shouts at the dude he’s been hitting as he’s escorted out, and Lola shoves him to the stage.

“Just play the fucking drums,” she demands, basically snarling at him with a split and bloody lip, and it’s then that they all seem to notice how quiet the club’s gotten. “I need a fucking drink.” Lola disappears into the crowd, and it’s as if the world is holding it’s breath, waiting for whatever comes next after all that had just gone down.

What that is is a cheer, a scream of ’ _fuck yeah! Motley Crue!_ ’ of applause and of excitement; of the crowd seeing the band earn their stripes within the first minutes of their first performance. When Lola takes her drink, back by the bar, it’s with a self satisfied smile. The crowd goes wild for them, screams and cheers, and the band are all beaming, even Mick is wearing a pleased little smile, which she’s pretty sure is as close as he’ll get to a grin.

She’s heard them rehearse what feels like a hundred times, but they’ve never sounded like this, so electric, so alive; it’s in the air, the drinks, the thud of the bass drum as it reverberates in her chest. She’s in the mosh, dancing with guys and girls and grinning wide enough to split her face as she watches the band, her boys, radiating pride as they play.

 _Starry Eyes_ has her feeling ways she can’t quite describe; Vince’s words are doing things to the girls in at the front of the crowd that probably shouldn’t be allowed in public, but Lola’s dancing with her eyes closed, grinning like she’s got a secret, like she he could sing the song to a million screaming girls and she’d still know it wasn’t written for them.

They finish with Live Wire and Lola almost pulls something in her neck with the way she’s thrashing with the rest of the crowd, but she can’t bring herself to care.

“Holy shit did you see that?!” Tommy and Nikki both practically tackle her the minute they come off stage, a few different people are offering the band drinks, Vince is held up with a swarm of pretty groupies, though quite a few are making attempts to get to Nikki and Tommy, and Mick has headed for the bar.

“Did I see that?! Dude it was fucking radical! You killed it! You absolutely killed it!” Lola gushed, and she extracts herself to hug them both individually; Tommy bites her cheek out of excitement, and Nikki spins her around. By the time they’re at the bar, Lola’s gushing with praise, sounding like every other groupie, but so  _so_ different, because she’s  _Lola_ and she knows what good music sounds like in this day and age.

By the bar, Lola collects and drink and steps out of the way, lets the boys bask in the praise of the countless nameless girls. Finding herself by Mick, she grows quiet, gives a genuine smile in response to his surprisingly self-satisfied one, claps him on the shoulder.

“You guys fuckin’ rocked,” she told him, and he gives her a surprisingly kind pet on the back.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he shook his head, and Lola actually has to laugh at that, “you throw a mean punch, girlie, and you handled the drummer well.” She doesn’t even make an innuendo from his phrasing, just preens a little, grinning sharp and proud.

“Well then I guess we’re both more than just a pretty face, ain’t that right, you geezer; I saw you kick that asshole out of the way like it was nothing,” she nudges him in the ribs and he snorts out a laugh, rolling his eyes, though Lola’s almost finished her drink, and heads back through the crowd. Once she’s finally gotten the bartender’s attention, a pair of arms wraps around her waist, and she hears Vince’s voice in her ear before she sees him.

“Were we fucking good or  _what_?” He’s  _delighted_ , ecstatic, his heart beating hard against his ribs from adrenaline and already smelling like six different cheap perfumes. He presses a rough kiss to her cheek, and Lola turns, smirking, lets herself be pressed against the bar.

“Hey, we match,” her hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over his own split lip, though it had stopped bleeding well into the gig, as had hers. Vince gives her a genuine smile, pressing a quick kiss to her lips, pulling back as if waiting for her reaction. “Won’t your adoring fans get mad?” She teased, her nails a sharp, shiny black contrast to his lightly tanned skin where she holds his jaw, his forehead resting against hers.

“Fuck ‘em.”

“I’m sure you will,” Lola’s grin gets wider, amused, almost fond, an expression mirrored by Vince before he’s kissing her against the bar, pressed against her with her arms around his neck, too hopped up on adrenaline and excitement of her own to care if any of the rest of the band saw.

The last she’d seen of Tommy he was rather preoccupied with a redhead who was missing a shirt, and Nikki had been pulled into the bathroom by a girl with dark lipstick and a dreamy smile. A few fan, guys with long hair and tattoos, girls in shorts and bright shirts, tried to get Vince’s attention, but he’s got his hand beneath Lola’s sheer, black top, and he doesn’t seem to want to pay anyone else much attention.

Pulling back suddenly, Lola pushes him back, much to his surprise, and sits herself on the bar, cupping her hands around her mouth like a megaphone.

“Hey!  _Hey, oi_! Kick-ons at my place! 'round the corner from the Whiskey!”

The announcement is greeted with a whoop of success, and a very confused Nikki, who’s zipping up his fly. And still wearing those fucking boots.

“What’s happening, we moving everyone on already?” When Nikki approaches her, he’s frowning, trailed by the girl from earlier, who’s now very obviously taken off her lipstick, though her smile’s just a little dreamy still, and she’s following him a little like a lovesick puppy. Lola pays her no mind.

“You make sure everyone gets to the apartment, I’ll pack up here; we can leave the gear in the car overnight so it’s safe,” and he trusts her to take care of his equipment, so he’s back to beaming, on board with the plan.

“We did it; we fuckin’ did it, Lo,” he grins sharply, grabbing her hair possibly a little harder than necessary and pulling her in for a spontaneous, elated kiss. Lola squeaks, but seems to enjoy it, practically melting under the touch, kissing him back without hesitation.

“ _You_ did it, dude,” she laughs as he pulls away.

“You coming, man?” Nikki asks Vince, finally turning his attention to the blonde singer, not even noticing his proximity to Lola, his fingers tucked in her belt loop. Or if he did notice, he didn’t seem to care.

“I’ll be there in a few, gotta make sure my mic’s packed properly,” he grinned easily, and Nikki snorted, but let it go. The girl behind Nikki looks confused, a little hurt and bewildered, but then he’s grabbing her hand and leading her from the bar, calling for the crowd to follow him, and she perked right up again; the Starwood where they’d been playing was a few blocks from the Whiskey, an easy walk.

Lola watches him leave, and feels as Vince threads his fingers through her hair, giving an experimental tug, watching the way Lola’s posture relaxed, a low, heady laugh escaping her as she turned to him, looking a little guilty, a little flushed, as if she’d been caught out.

“I  _do_ have to do my job,” Lola says gently, stepping herself into Vince’s space. He’s a little in awe; he’s never seen her so suddenly switch to something so soft and needy; she keeps looking at his lips like she wants to kiss him, but like she’s holding back.

“Can it wait ten minutes?” He asks, raising an eyebrow and pulling her hair again, just a little harder this time. Nodding, quick and insistent, like a switch has been flipped and she’s kissing him, desperate and hungry, pressing herself against him; Vince is pretty sure he’s never seen her like this, and definitely sure he enjoys it, especially when the takes his hand, lacing their fingers, pulling back from him with a breathless grin.

“Bathroom?” At her suggestion, he casts a cheeky, appraising glance at the bartop, and Lola actually blushes. “Bathroom.” She insists, and she leads the way, crashing past Tommy and his redhead just as they were about to make their way in for their own moment of fun.

“Lol-  _Vince_?” Tommy squawked, eyes wide, surprise written all over his face. Lola’s grinning like the Cheshire cat as she blocks the entrance to the bathroom once she and Vince are inside. Tommy seems exasperated, but not surprised.

“Occupied.” Lola wears a sharp grin before Vince pulls her in and slams the door shut, pressing her against it. They both hear Tommy groan and swear in defeat, but neither can seem to bring themselves to care.


	11. sure as hell ain't honest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aftermath of the first gig. lola and beth get into an altercation and it turns out vince is into girls who are mean to him. mostly mean to him. sometimes mean to him. sometimes the girls who are mean to him are actually sort of nice to him, and maybe they might be catching feelings. just a little. which terrifies them. her. it’s lola.

Before they're even two steps out of the Starwood, Vince is doubling back, swearing to himself.

"That's Beth's car, when did she get here? Why is she here? How long has she been waiting? Fuck, did I invite her?" He sounds a little panicked, a little unsure, and is stepping back into the bar with Lola on his heels before they get far enough along for Beth to see them where she's parked.

"You must really like her," Lola drawls, smirking at him, her hands stuffed in her pockets as Vince sighs with heavy resignation.

"Have you  _seen_ her car?" He asks, and Lola just smiles wider, "she's swimming in daddy's money, and it gets her the best coke on the Strip, too." His tone was rather pointed, which only makes her roll her eyes, stepping up to stand in front of him. With only a slight frown, and the practiced ease of someone who's done this more than once before, she tugs at his shirt so it was sitting straighter, telling him to pull his pants up so they sat a little higher on his hips. After a moment's pause, she reaches out and scrubs at the faint dark mark her lipstick had left on his jaw. 

"Go get 'em," Lola smirked, stepping back, and only a shadow of a doubt passed over Vince's face before Lola heaved a sigh, "don't worry, I don't make a point of marking guys with bitchy, jealous-type girlfriends."

"Fuck, you're good," Vince presses a quick to her temple, ignoring her scoff and additional eyeroll before he slips out of the bar with a renewed energy. Surprisingly, Lola takes a moment, steps back until she's leaning against the wall, and lets herself sag against it.

"You do this sort of shit often?" The silence is broken by a bartender giving her a judgemental look as he dries a glass in the now mostly empty bar. Lola's expression twisted into something angry and bitter, before she casts her gaze to the stage, reels her emotions back in and bites her tongue on what she  _wants_ to say. 

"Thanks for having the band play here,  _Ricky_ , always nice to see you," she grumbles through gritted teeth, stalking from the building, down the street, trying to get past Beth and Vince and their gross display of affection without an incident. It doesn't work.

"Wait, isn't that the girl who lives with Nikki? Why was she there?" Beth's accusatory scoff reaches Lola before Lola's even reached the couple.

"It's alright, babe, she's just our roadie," Vince assures the blonde woman, and Lola grits her teeth,  but hunches down a little more, trying to keep walking, even at the sound of Beth's derisive laugh, her sigh of relief. 

"Oh, she's  _the help_." 

Something inside of Lola snaps, after years of hearing that at her work at the hotel, not being taken seriously along the Strip until she'd proved she could run circles around male roadies who  _still_ got paid more than her, of everyone writing her off because she'd put her own enjoyment first, ignoring the scornful remarks from everyone when they thought she wasn't listening. 

She stops.

" _Fuck._ " Vince sighs, defeated.

Lola turns; though he's playing at calm, the look in his eyes is terrified. Lola's gaze meets his before she even looks at Beth, a look like ' _are you fucking kidding me right now?_ ' Vince just looks like he's saying a final prayer before he loses a cute girl and cool care and high quality cocaine forever. But then she's turning her attention to Beth, who's just waiting, expression cool and unrattled, almost challenging. Lola smiles thin and mean.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Lola's voice is  _painfully_ harmless, sweet and caring, and Beth frowns, confused, "are you getting enough sleep? You look, actually, are you sick? Are you alright?" Lola asks, and Beth's eyes widen. Mouth falling open, she frantically checks her reflection in the car window.

"What? What do you mean?" Beth demands, and Lola pouts, fixing the blonde with a faux apologetic look. Vince looks from Beth to Lola, wearing a frown, confused, but not liking the way Lola's lip is twitching like she's holding back a smile.

"I've been thinking it for about a week now, I've been worried about you; you look  _so_ tired." Lola mused, "but if you're fine." She sounds unconvinced, and gives a shrug, before turning and heading towards her apartment, and the party within. Beth calls out after her, confused, worried, checking her own reflection every few moments, with only Vince to reassure her.

When she gets back to the party, Lola's grinning, can't help herself, elated from sating her vindictive nature; it's like she's walking on air. People who know her see her beaming, hug her in greeting; kisses are pressed to her cheek, a few congratulate her on her set-up, and she runs into Tommy leaning against the railing outside her apartment, watching her with surprising amusement. 

"That good?" He smirked, and Lola shook her head with a laugh, punching his shoulder lightly, leaning into it as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Don't give Vince too much credit," Lola snickered, actually smiling with her teeth, grin wide enough when she looked up at him that it crinkled the corners of her eyes. He'd never seen her this genuinely happy before; he can't help but smile in return, passing her his cigarette, "you don't see me as  _just the help_ , do you?" She asks around the cigarette, still happy-go-lucky, looking up at the stars.

"You? Fuck no; anyone who could beat my ass or haul me around without breaking a sweat like you did tonight is automatically - thanks -" he took the cigarette back, taking a puff before continuing his spiel, "is automatically more than  _just_  anything. Lols, you're cool as shit, best roadie this side of LA," he nudges her with his hip, grin turning sly, "hottest, too." He adds, and Lola laughs through the smoke she'd been holding in her lungs as she'd been listening.

"God, you know how to play to a girl's ego, don't you?" Nudging him back, she pauses for a minute before moving out of his grip. Something in her chest has tightened, and she knows if she stays too long she'll end up doing something she'll regret. Actually, she won't regret it, but she's already fucked one of Nikki's bandmates tonight, she shouldn't make that mistake again, especially after how the first one ended.

"Nikki in there?" She nods to the door sitting ajar, and Tommy hesitates.

"Probably," he shrugs, but Lola's made her way inside already, despite the mass of bodies all dancing to the music blaring from the record player, all drinking and smoking and talking, and before she does anything else, she makes a beeline for the fridge, taking a can of something that she doesn't recognise, that probably belongs to one of the other partygoers. People are doing blow on the sofa, and when Lola sits herself on the arm of the sofa, someone rests their hand on her thigh. It's Nikki, grinning at her, content and a little amused. 

When she reaches over him to where someone else is offer the plate they're doing coke from, he pulls her into his lap, and she moves without hesitation, shifting a little to get comfortable before accepting the plate and doing a line. And then another. And Nikki's hand is high on her thigh.

"Are you in the band?" Lola, using her most irritating valley girl accent, smirks at Nikki as she passes the plate off to someone else. He gives her thigh a squeeze, rolling his eyes at her, though his good mood doesn't seem to be broken. Lola lowers her voice, leaning against him, "how was your cute little punk girl?" 

"I don't know, Lo," Nikki's eyes drifted to her lips and Lola grinned, sharp and amused, "maybe I just expect more from punk girls."

"You just like me 'cos I bite you," Lola murmurs, and she's about to follow through, kiss him hard like she wants to, like it would help her forget or make up for whatever she's already done tonight, but then someone's calling her name over the music; it's Vince, and it's not unexpected. Nikki gives her an amused look in the face of her exasperation. 

"Vince's girlfriend is so fucking vain," Lola groans, sitting up and making grabby-hands for the coke, doing a line, "like sorry I hurt her feelings but she was a bitch to me an deserved it," Lola continues flippantly, uncurling herself from Nikki's lap, looking terribly put upon as she looked around the room for an escape route, presumably.

"Is that what'd had you in such a good mood?" Nikki asks, and Lola turns, smiling sweetly.

"That, and seeing my best friend play a stellar gig," she leans in, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and after a beat, Nikki holds her face, pulls her into an actual kiss. She kisses him back, smiling all the while before she pulls back at the sound of Vince calling her name again. "I gotta take this," she murmurs, stepping away, and disappearing around the corner, towards the bedrooms. 

Only a few minutes pass, Lola doesn't have to wait long before Vince joins her, looking annoyed.

"How did you find me? I thought I'd hidden so well." Lola's sarcasm stings, and Vince doesn't look like he's in the mood to play games.

"That was a really shitty thing you said to Beth."

"I was just  _worried_ about her," Lola feigns innocence for a moment before her expression turns cruelly amused, "I don't see why  _you're_ complaining."

"Because I  _do_ care about her, okay? I know what you were trying to do; that's fucking shitty, you know?" He cries, and Lola stands, slowly, fixing him with an unflinching, shallow gaze. It takes him a moment, trying to read her but being mostly unsuccessful; he doesn't know this side of Lola, didn't realise she'd even had it in her, sharp and vindictive, with laser-point focus.

"You should be  _thanking_ me," she says coolly, advancing on him, "I  _didn't_ tell her that you'd had your dick in me five minutes before you saw her, I  _didn't_ touch her despite the fucking nerve she had, but I should have decked her on the spot," and she's close to him now, close enough that he starts to back up as she jabs at his chest, "I let  _you_ play prince charming, didn't you assure her that she looked  _fine,_ looked  _gorgeous?_ When she figured out I was messing with her - or,  _no,_ did you tell her?" Lola gasped with mock surprise, sneering, "You  _agreed_ when she called me a bitch and a nuisance, didn't you? And I bet she was so grateful she got on her knees for you," he flushed at that, back pressed against the wall, it was all he could do to avoid Lola's gaze, though he couldn't deny it, "and  _the help,"_ Lola's lip curled in derision at the term, "was so  _cruel_ to her that she had to go home," she cooed, "so now you're here, surrounded by groupies, and she's too nervous to come out, won't even realise how unfaithful you really are." She's wearing her snake charmer smile with a hand braced gently on his chest, oozing confidence like she knows every word she's saying is complete fact.

They're basically nose to nose, and Vince can feel his heart hammering against his ribs, but it's not panic; he knew it was a stupid idea to try and pick a fight with  _Lola_ , especially since, in hindsight, she  _is_  right. 

"But I'm the only bad guy here, aren't I?" She asks, voice soft, her gaze finally snapping from his lips to his eyes. He swallows hard. He  _knows_ he really shouldn't be into this, he's half convinced she might be threatening him, but he can't help himself.

And then she's gone, leaving him breathless as she steps towards the door, breaking the tension when she turns the handle. Tone much lighter now, she smiles at him, kind and genuine, and he feels like he's getting whiplash.

"You guys played really well tonight," and she says it like it's the first thing she's said to him all night, like he's just jumped off the stage and they're still in the bar. And he reaches out, takes her hand before the door can open. He's still looking straight ahead, but he can see her raise her eyebrow from the corner of his eye, looking at his hand on hers, gently letting go of the door handle. "Yes?"

"Was still a shitty thing to say; she was really worked up about it," at his words, Lola frowned at him, but then his head tipped to the side, smirking gently, "but I  _should_ thank you." Lola laughed a little, but obligingly steps closer to him as he pulls her to him.

"Do you just have a thing for girls who are mean to you?" And it's clear she's said her peace, is back to being a more familiar, less vindictive version of Lola, whose teasing is light and friendly, rather than sounding like a thinly veiled threat. 

"Come on, babe, I've had enough of your games for tonight; are you gonna kiss me or am I gonna have to find someone else to make use of this bed with me?"

When Lola steps back, eyebrows raised in surprise, Vince steps with her; he's worried he's said the wrong thing, that she's going to call his not-quite-bluff. 

"You'd be  _lucky_ to fuck me in this apartment, Vince," and there she is again, for just a moment, that dark, confident,  _mean_ Lola that had him hard and heart racing just a few minutes ago. Tipping her head to the side, she gives him an evaluative stare, "so if  _you_ want  _me_ , you're gonna be nice about it." She pauses; there's a glint in her eyes like she knows exactly what she's doing, like she knows how it makes him feel; "say  _please_."

He meets her gaze, gives a soft, smile.

"Fine,  _please_."

He expects Lola to leave when they're done, go back out to the party in the rest of her apartment, hell, he expects himself to go back out there and be with his bandmates, but Lola's breathing hard, her fingers gently carding through his hair where he's up enough to lay beside her, pillowing his head on her stomach. It's quiet between them for a long time, the only sound being Lola's breathing, and some  _Sex Pistols_  song filtering in through the door.

"Sorry for being a dick to you," voice gentle, it's the most honest she's sounded since she'd gotten back to her apartment.

"I kinda liked it," he answers without thinking, "but thanks." It takes him a moment to realise what he'd said, but Lola was already laughing, sweet and bright.

"I - yeah I got that," she snorts, "but I meant the stuff that wasn't  _meant_ to be sexy -" she paused, shifting, a blush rising on her cheeks and Vince watched with amusement of his own as it travelled down her chest too, "okay, so it was  _all_ meant to be sexy, but some of it was just meant to be cruel. I'm sorry about being cruel. Your girlfriend's the worst, I shouldn't take it out on you."

It's now that Vince starts to realise that he doesn't actually know Lola that well; she keeps surprising him tonight with different facets of her personality, and despite everything that had happened, he's starting to think he might actually like her as a person. He's respected her well enough as a booty call and Nikki's friend and their roadie, but he'd never spent enough time with her outside of sex or rehearsals to actually think of her as a friend. 

He's not sure what to say, if there is anything he can say. Instead, he moves, presses a kiss to her ribs beneath her boob, and then he's propping himself up by her side, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

"You should go and celebrate with the others," she tells him gently, giving a fond, if not a little forlorn smile, cupping his jaw. 

"I'm right where I want to be."

It's been a long time since Lola's fallen asleep in the arms of someone she knows she'll see again, who isn't Nikki. Vince holds her close in his sleep; his chest pressed to her back; she's never been the little spoon without a shirt on, and she's not sure why but something about how secure and warm she feels almost brings tears to her eyes. She's glad he can't see that. When she wakes up, shifts around, he's yawning and stretching behind her, his sleepy grin fond as he blinks blearily at her.

"'morning," he mumbles after stretching, wrapping her up in an embrace, pulling her close and pressing a grin and a kiss to her shoulder blade as she squirmed and giggled. 

It was easy with Vince; they knew what they were, they knew what was at stake. 

"You're fucking Vince, aren't you?" Nikki yawns the moment Lola steps in to get herself a change of clothes. 

"If I am it's none of your business."

"I don't give a shit if you are; you're an adult," and he rolls over, throwing an arm over the girl Lola doesn't recognise who's sharing the bed.

"What's the difference between him and Tommy?" Lola stops short, frowning. Nikki frowns sleepily over his shoulder at her, half dressed by the wardrobe.

"You're too smart to get your heart broken by Vince, at least I fuckin' hope you are," he scoffs, and Lola's expression sours, but she stays quiet, "but every time Tommy's halfway nice to you you start turning all red; the kid's a hopeless romantic, but you're a disaster, Lo, you get naked for anyone who pays you a compliment."

"Sorry I like it when people are nice to me," Lola snaps, and the girl in the bed yawns.

"Yeah, whatever, fuck Tommy if you want, but don't break up my band over it." 

Lola wants to scream, wants to throw shit or break shit; she settles for throwing a lava lamp at the wall by the bed, taking little joy in the way that it splattered it's waxy contents on Nikki and his companion, who both leapt from the bed, all but shrieking, and butt naked.

"I know how much this band means to you, have some goddamn faith in me," it comes out as an angry snarl from Lola, and Nikki, despite how he's absolutely fuming, is at a loss for words, just lets her storm out without even saying a word.


	12. we can't rewind we've gone too far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gigs are going well, lola reflects on her relationship with the band, a certain gig goes very well and then takes a sharp nosedive as vince loses his favourite pants (and his girlfriend)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: nsfw heavily implied, drinking, drug mentions, mostly a vince/lola chapter with smidges of lola/nikki and lola/tommy

“Nikki, where’s our damn-” Lola’s voice dies in her throat as she makes her way to the living room, only to see her grimy bedsheet strung up across the wall as Tommy spray paints the band’s name onto it, “gross.” Is all she can bring herself to say, rolling her eyes, the mystery now solved. Mick gives a thin, amused smile at her derision, quietly agreeing, and Nikki waves her off, rolling his eyes.

“How sick does this look?” Tommy’s grin is wide and bright as he drags his gaze away from his handiwork with the paint canister, over to the dark haired girl who had taken up residence in the arm chair across from him. “You’re bleeding.” He adds, unphased, still smiling in the face of her grimace.

“Nah, it’s dried,” she assures, sitting forward, pulling the fabric of her singlet up to cover the bite mark he had been referring to, before taking in the whole situation before her, “you should have washed that; that sheet is so fucking grubby.”

“Don’t spoil this,” Nikki warned, and Lola couldn’t help but laugh, sharp and surprisingly fond despite the circumstances.

“No, dude, this is great, it’s authentic,” Tommy went back to filling in the  _CRUE_ section, still excited as anything. They’d been complaining about not having a backdrop for a while, and it seemed they’d finally decided to take matters into their own hands. After a beat, Lola yawns, getting to her feet as Nikki’s rifling around the papers scattered about the coffee table, looking for a set of lyrics, judging by his mumbling.

“It does look pretty rad, I’ll give you that much,” Lola gives Tommy’s arm a gentle, fond squeeze as she passes him, and without looking away from his work, he smiles a little brighter, hip checks her and thanks her as she moves to swat at Nikki’s shoulder. “I’m going to grab some food, you guys want anything?”

“Could you do a booze run?” Nikki smiles at her, sweet enough that she knows his heart’s not really in it. “We’re gonna be practicing before tonight, we don’t have the -” he tries as she rolls her eyes at him, holding her hand out expectantly.

“JD?” She asks, eyebrow raised, and his smile twists into something pleased as he pulls out a few bills from his back pocket to place into her waiting palm. “Mick; vodka? What about you, Tom?” Mick places exact change in her hand, thanking her quietly, and Tommy turns, eyebrows raised.

“I- fuck, I’m right, dude; don’t have any cash on me,” he admitted, and Lola shrugged.

“What do you want?”

“How come he doesn’t have to pay?” Nikki crowed, and Mick just sighed at the sudden uproar, moving to pick up his guitar and ignore the rest of them.

“Because I know he’s good for it,” Lola snapped, matching Nikki’s intensity without hesitation, the bassist going back to his notebook before Lola turns that burning intensity on Tommy, “seriously dude, what do you want?”

“Just JD would be great,” he said, not paying the moment that had just passed any mind; it happened a lot around here, “and a pack of smokes?” He asked, and Lola’s anger melted away, and she nodded smiling.

“‘course, can do.”

With that Tommy turns back to the banner, and Lola turns back to Nikki, bouncing up on her toes to press a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“You too?” She asked, voice soft, and Nikki gave a half smile and a small nod, clearly not holding an ounce of the anger that he’d held a moment ago, giving her scalp a quick scratch in both acknowledgement and wordless thanks.

Vince’s timing was perfect, however, as the moment she goes to open the door, he’s knocking. The moment the she swings the door open, she’s telling him she’s going on a booze and food run, but he’s already stepping past her, distracted by the band’s banner. He gives her a few bills, tells her to just get something she thinks he’ll like, and then he’s off, practically jumping all over both Nikki and Tommy, crowing about how cool the banner looked.

Lola comes back with bags full of burgers and booze, tossing a few packs of smokes onto the table for the boys to divvy up themselves, stashing away her own bottle of spiced rum for later that night.

Seeing the banner hanging up behind their band, while it does look  _incredibly_ low budget, adds a certain  _je ne sais quoi_  that has a strange sense of pride blooming inside of her. Or maybe that’s the rum.

“ _Lo! Lola! Lols!_ ” She hears her voice over the crowd as the band is taking a break between their sets; by now they’ve got enough songs for two sets, and they usually use the break to drink copious amounts of free booze. “ _Lols_!” It’s louder this time, and distinctly Tommy; he’s the only one who calls her that, and she can’t help but smile as he makes his way through the crush of bodies to her, by the bar.

“What’s up, babes?” Lola asks, turning quickly on her barstool, and her eyes take a moment to catch up with her head properly, but it seems Tommy’s just as inebriated as she feels, though he catches himself before he crashes into her. He’s got his hand in his back pocket, intense look on his face.

“This is- I thought I was wearing my other pants- this is for you- for the drinks, earlier- for booze run,” the words spill from his lips as he pushes a handful of crumpled notes into her hands, and she can’t help but laugh, pushing them back.

“No, it’s okay dude, seriously a bottle of JD isn’t gonna break the bank for me, you keep you cash-”

“No, dude, I’m good for it, I promise, I just thought I was wearing-”

“Tommy,” Lola says his name very seriously. After a moment, she insistently hands his money back to him, moving to sit on her knees on the bar stool to look him in the eyes, taking his face in her hands. He looks a little concerned, and also like he’s trying not to laugh, “don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” Almost immediately, his gaze flicks to her lips, and his frown deepens. “It’s a saying, dumbass, just take the free booze, okay?” She asks, though her expression is fond, and she pats his cheek.

“For real?” He asks, the money crumpled in his hands uselessly as she sits properly on the seat again. “You’re the best.” He’s beaming again, wrapping his arms around her in a quick hug before he lets himself be pulled into the crowd again.

Lola’s well aware that Tommy’s not nearly the picture of innocence, he’s made use of her spare bedroom, bathroom, and even kitchen more than enough times since Motley Crue had started performing that she knows he’s just as devious as herself, Nikki, and Vince, but he’s never been anything but kind and honest with her. It’s  _unbelievably_ frustrating; he’s pretty, kind, and a half decent lay at the  _very least_ judging by the noises girls make when he’s with them.

Maybe it’s the fact that she’s trying to still keep her promise that makes her want him all the more, but that didn’t stop her from flirting with him, especially not while drunk. Something about him brings out the gentle, clingy side of her after most of a bottle of rum; she likes being wanted, likes the way he’ll wrap an arm around her at the slightest provocation, how he’ll press grins and laughter into her hair when she makes a particularly bad joke.

Vince knows about her promise, and is more than happy to help her with her frustrations, pull her away when she looks like she’s moments away from crossing that paper thin line she’s set for herself. Or she uses whatever self control she has left to find Nikki, or anyone else who’s pretty and willing to help her forget the world for a night.

When she’s sober she’s fine… mostly. They’re always in their apartment, making props for the show, pouring paint over mannequins and acting like fools between rehearsals, and Lola enjoys their company. Somehow, things haven’t gotten weird with Nikki knowing about her and Vince, and it’s not long before casual contact between them just seems…  _normal_.

“Hey, Lo, what do you think about this?” Vince catches her hand as she walks past where he’s sitting on the sofa. In a moment, he’s pulled her into his lap, perching his chin on her shoulder as he holds up a set of lyrics for them both to read. No-one else in the room seems bothered by this, and Lola leans back a little, frowning at the paper that’s been presented.

“Lyrics aren’t my forte,” she admits after a long moment of silence, and Tommy snorts into his beer where he’s sitting behind his drums.

“ _Do you_ play anything?” Vince asks, folding the paper over, his hand coming to rest on her knee. Lola wrinkles her nose a little.

“Nah, not really,” but she sounds surprisingly forlorn when she says it. They both miss the way Nikki regards her with confusion, brow furrowed. Vince, however, 'tsks’ loudly and with an air of melodrama about him, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“Then you can’t help me,” he sighs dramatically, pushing her back up to her feet. Lola’s smiling despite herself.

“Sorry, dude, Nikki’s the brain, I’m just the brawn,” she half laughs.

“Neither of you are the brains.” Mick mutters, but Lola, by now used to his somewhat insulting asides, just smiles at him as Nikki looks back up from his own lyrics where he was going over them with Tommy.

“So what am I?”

“Out of the two of you? She’s the brawn, you’re the talent.” Mick explains without hesitation.

“That almost sounded like a compliment,” Lola smiled sweetly as she looked from Mick to Nikki, who seemed confused by Mick’s confidence in his answer.

“It must be a full moon,” Mick actually smiled a little wryly at that, and he and Lola actually shared a moment of amusement before the room erupts with questions from the others.

“What am I?” Tommy asks, as Vince cuts in with confidence.

“I’m the looks, aren’t I? Like obviously, come on.”

“That’s a whole different scenario; I was just talking about who was who out of Sixx and girlie-” already Mick seems like he wishes he’d never said anything, as they take the next five minutes arguing with Tommy and Vince about how all five of them would be categorised, while Lola just smirks, taking a seat on the arm of Nikki’s chair, letting him pull her into his lap.

Petty arguments like this broke out often, but at this point, they were more entertaining than malicious.

She still roadies for other bands, but Motley Crue becomes her priority, and once they start making real money at the clubs, they start paying her as their  _official roadie-slash-assistant_. It’s a title she gives herself, since  _professional roadie-slash-groupie_ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

They’re selling out clubs within months, lines around the block when they play venues like the Troubadour, and Lola lets herself lean into the debauchery, equal parts decadence and grime; during shows, at the venues, she’s only got eyes for her band, will turn down drunks at the bar. Anything goes at the after party, but until then, she pretends like she remembers what it means to be exclusive.

Who can blame her, however, when the band looks as good as they do on stage; the way she feels the bass drum in her chest has her almost in awe, makes her feel things she can’t quite describe. The way they move across the stage, the rich thump of the bass, and the melody blasting from Mick’s amp, and  _oh,_ Vince’s damn vocals- rock and roll does more to Lola than she’s ever willing to admit.

Usually she’s fine, usually she can wait until either Vince or Nikki finds her, high from adrenaline, among other things, knowing she’s waiting for them, but something about tonight isn’t usual.

Maybe it’s the way Vince had been singing, the way he’d been stirring up the crowd, or maybe it was his damn vest and white leather pants, but the moment he heads off stage once the final song has finished, she’s following. He’s headed to the bathroom, but as she makes her way over, she passes both Nikki and Tommy. Nikki knows the look in her eyes all too well, just smirks at her, and she nods at him in return.

“Vince in there?” Lola asks Tommy, her hand on his upper arm, and the drummer takes one look at her and smirks. He’s only wearing leather pants, sweaty and gorgeous after the show, and Lola has to fight to keep her eyes on his face.

“Yeah, no, probably, I just saw him go in,” he assures, and Lola’s smile sharpens, giving his arm a squeeze.

“Thanks, you guys were awesome tonight,” she tells him, “just  _really_ great,” and Tommy laughs a little; the sound has Lola’s heart racing, not that it wasn’t already. She knows she should go. But she can’t, instead, she’s beckoning him forward, like she’s got a secret, and with an amused half-smile, the drummer obligingly leans down.

She takes his face in her hands, as she is often want to do, but this time she plants a kiss on his lips. It feels  _right_ , it feels good, but she steps back before anything else can happen, already mentally berating herself.

“You guys played great; I gotta -  _fuck_ \- I gotta go,” she breathes, avoiding his amused, surprised gaze, which followed her as she stepped into the bathroom.

Vince seems surprised to see her where he’s washing his hands, but that fades immediately to a smug, pleased smile as she steps up to him, shedding her leather jacket and planting a hand either side of him on the counter, leaning into him, expression almost hungry.

“Hello,” he murmurs, seemingly not intimidated by her, but happy to be leaning against the counter. But she doesn’t answer, her gaze drops to his bare chest and she scrapes her nails up his chest, pushing him back until he’s sitting on the counter and she can climb to sit in his lap. Not even taking a true moment to tease him before she’s got her lips on his, desperate and full of want. His hands on her hips he pulls her closer.

They don’t even bother to lock the door, which honestly is a terrible oversight, anyone could walk in.  Lola’s naked on the counter, Vince fucking her against the sink with her back arching up off the mirror as she clutches at one of the taps, when someone does.  Beth.

Vince’s girlfriend cusses a blue streak as she smacks her very naked and cheating boyfriend, calling both Lola and Vince every horrible name in the book as she takes the leather pants he loved so dearly from the floor.

“Fuck you! Fuck you both! I should have fucking known!” She screams, slinging the pants over her shoulder and storming off in an angry clack of heels.

“Yeah you should have!” Lola crows, nothing but amused, watching Vince call out after his girlfriend, following her and trying to protect his modesty.

When he gets back, he just snatches up the rest of his clothes, dejected, following Lola’s lead where she’s already started getting dressed. The mood had been thoroughly ruined. Without speaking, she just offers him the spiked jeans she’d been wearing; her thighs and hips are thicker than his, but it’s why she’d brought a belt. He takes the clothes, thanks her, his mood still very justifiably soiled, and Lola ties her jacket around her waist once she’d got her shirt back on.

“Hey,” Lola’s expression is soft, and she rests a hand on Vince’s shoulder before he leaves the bathroom, “if you ever need a rebound, I’m here.” She offered, and his expression soured considerably.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re comforting skills are dogshit?”

Lola bit back the response she wanted to give in favour of shrugging helplessly.

“I learned from Nikki, blame him.”

This just serves to confuse the singer further, adding another tab to the strange and yet still unanswered question of ’ _So what the hell is Nikki and Lola’s relationship anyways?_ ’ He leaves her in the bathroom, avoids her for most of the rest of the night. She’s pretty sure she’s fucked up, that he never wants to see her again, and that she’s fucked with the band’s dynamics.

For the first time in a long time, as the after party rages around her at her house, she thinks she feels guilty; actually guilty. She drinks and smokes and snorts and has a good time, but there’s a gnawing in the back of her mind that she can’t quite escape. Vince is fucked up, high out of his fucking mind and seemingly having the time of his life, still wearing Lola’s pants.

But then he’s calling her name, stumbling into the spare room, and she can’t help but follow, apologies on the tip of her tongue, though she doubts he’ll even remember.

“Stay, babe, stay,” Vince sits back on the bed, and Lola actually hesitates, “come on, we were both part of the stupid, dumb shit,” his words run into each other a little bit as he flops back on the bed, and Lola steps into the room, closing the door, “I’ll mourn the pants tomorrow,  _stay_.” He insists, spreading himself out on the bed, “just come here; tonight’s been shitty, but I’m not mad at you or whatever you think I am. Please, Lo, it’s late.”

After a beat, Lola makes her way to him, pulling off her jacket and boots, laying beside him and pulling up the duvet.

“You know she’s a bitch, right?” Lola murmurs, tucking herself in beside him. Even, so he wraps his arm around her, pulls her close, nodding in agreement.

“All the hot ones are.”


	13. watch me take a good thing and fuck it all up in one night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter; Tom Zutaut. the prospect of a meeting has them all excited, but then an asshole takes Lola for granted, Tommy falls off the bar, and making sure the drummer doesn’t get injured on the way home leads to a moment.......... or several

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: drinking, nsfw mention, assault and a fight, a very highkey Tommy/Lola chapter (FINALLY), and it gets v fluffy towards the end. i listened to I Think I’m OKAY on repeat while writing this and i LOVE

Lola's the first one to meet Tom Zutaut; he's looking sweet, a little lost in his polo shirt, pushing his way through the mosh at the Troubadour. She doesn't know who he is at the time, but he's noteworthy enough that she remembers him. He likes the music, doesn't look like he'd be the type, but he's gently headbanging in the front row -  _is he holding a sandwich? What a dork!_ \- and Lola has to hold in her laughter from where she's sitting at the side of the room.

"Hi, hey," as the set comes to an end, Lola tries not to look as amused as she's definitely feeling when she approaches him, hand gentle on his arm where she's trying to get his attention, but her amusement is fading fast with him sniffing around the stage, looking like he wants something but he's not quite sure what, "you lost?" He seems shocked to see her, to hear her voice, his eyes widen when he takes in her whole visage, and he's stumbling over his words. "You need something?" Her smile is fading now, eyebrow raised.

"I'm- who are you?" He asks, his hands held to his chest, stepping out of her space, the back of his legs hitting the stage. 

"Lola. I work with the band; why are you sniffing around the stage? What do you want?" Her expression is souring by the moment, but he doesn't seem deterred, if anything, his own face brightens.

"Oh,  _oh_ , I know you- hey, are you- so you're working with them- with Motley Crue?" He asks with a renewed, energy, stepping forward again. Tentatively, Lola confirms once more, and suddenly the man's reaching into his pocket, "great, awesome, excellent!" He rattles off, distracted, "I'm Tom, Tom Zutaut," and he reaches out his free hand, awkwardly shaking Lola's before he pulls out a card, "I'm with Elektra Records, I wanna talk to the band." 

Now she's looking at him with starry eyes, shaking his hand with more gusto than was probably necessarily, clasping his hand with both of her own.

"Oh, oh  _hi,_ awesome,  _yes!"_ Lola's enthusing, before looking around the bar, trying to spot any of the band members though they seem to all be in various drunken, high states of debauchery. "They're currently indisposed, but I can get them to call you!" She takes the card, looking at it very closely, "is your name on it? Tom, right?"

"Yeah, it's Tom," and he actually seems overjoyed at the prospect, "honestly I can't believe- you're Lola  _Gone_ , right?" Of course she is, she's looks exactly as described, that being ' _leather and spikes and hot but also she'll probably tell you to fuck off if_ you  _walk up to her, Tom_ ' as one of his coworkers had said, despite the fact that neither of them had actually met the girl. But Tom was the one new to LA, so he took it in stride. "I was just told that you're the one to go to about bands around here, around the Strip," he gestures around, laughing a little self conscious, and Lola finally stops shaking his hand, tucking the business card into her bra for safe keeping. She winces internally as Tom shakes his hand a little when it's finally free of her probably too strong grip.

"Well then it must be fate," Lola laughs a little, elated, much less frightening or unapproachable than Tom had been expecting, and she looks over her shoulder, "actually, I'm sure the band would love to-" but her excitement is cut off by Tommy lobbing a mostly empty bottle at the wall, and it shattering into a thousand pieces with a loud crash.

"I should probably be going," Tom chuckles a little uncertainly, "but please, Lola, I love their sound, I really think I could help them," he takes her by the shoulders, looks into her eyes, much less skittish than he'd been moments ago, to which she's thankful, it means she'll remember that much clearer the following morning. 

And then he's gone, awkwardly squeezing through the crowd, and Lola pats where she's got his business card stored securely, before pushing through the crowd towards the rowdy drummer, who was standing on the bar, a new bottle in hand, absolutely incoherent where he was trying to yell something at the crowd. When she gets to him, she doesn't even berate him, just bites at his shin through his leather pants and tries to find Nikki.

He's on a bar stool at the end of the bar with a pretty girl on her knees in front of him, his head thrown back, bottle of Jack in his hand where he's leaning heavily against the counter.

"I'm busy," he huffs out when Lola tries to get his attention.

"You can multitask," she smirked, pulling the business card from her bra, and Nikki gave her an exasperated look before his gaze flicked to the little piece of cardboard between her fingers, his expression turning curious, "so I just spoke to a rep from Elektra," she tells him just as the girl with her mouth on his cock apparently does something great, because his grip on the bottle visibly tightens and his free hand finds the girl's head, holding her steady for a moment. Lola has to turn away and laugh. "I can come back." She snickers.

"No, shut up, what?" Nikki huffs in rapid succession, breathing rough, and Lola leans in close beside him, brandishing the business card.

"He  _loves_ your sound, thinks he could  _really_ help you guys," she purrs, "he wants to organise a meeting later this week; do you think you can manage that?" Her smile turns sharp; he's flushes, pupils wide and shiny from any number of things, but he's looking at her with something akin to awe in his eyes. But like he'd said, he's  _busy_ , and Lola pulls back, hoping the momentary disappointment hadn't shown on her face.

"You're not fucking with me, you fucking better not be-" Nikki warned, but Lola laughed, tucking the card back into her bra, shaking her head.

"No, it's one-hundred-percent real," she assured, "I'll keep the card until you're coherent, don't worry," she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, quick and far more sincere than she'd usually allow herself, but this is a  _big fucking deal_. The moment she steps back, Nikki's head drops back and his eyes fall closed as he swears quietly, and Lola feels like she really doesn't want to stay here much longer. 

Making her way back to the stage to start packing up, she feels a pair of hands on her hips, hears a warm greeting in her ear from a voice whose name she can't place, but she smiles obligingly, turning.

"Find me at the afterparty, babe, I don't mix business with pleasure," she winks, but he's drunk and insistent.

"Please, Lola baby, we've fucked here before,  _please_ ," and he presses a kiss to her neck, his grip on her hips firm and insistent. She actually steps back, good mood rapidly disappearing.

"I only fuck band members in pubs anymore," she answers, peeling him away from her, voice venomous, and the man just pouts, still trying to cop a feel. Pathetic. "Piss off, dude."

"You don't even remember my name? That hurts, how many guys do you have to sleep with to forget  _me?_ "

"Probably not a lot," she says through her teeth, actually shoving him away, "leave me alone." She shoves him away again as he makes another move towards her, and he stumbles back this time. The people around them have grown quiet.

"You used to be fun," he whined, "I just wanted some fucking fun, I don't know why you're being such a bitch," and it was like a switched was flipped; there was a red tint to the edge of Lola's vision. Threading her fingers through his overly hair-sprayed hair, she grips tight enough that he squeals like a distressed pig as she brings his head down to meet where she's jerked her knee up. There's a crack that the resonates around most of the rest of the club, which has grown silent at the violent outburst, and the man stumbles back, clutching his nose.

"What the fuc-" 

Before he can even finish his sentence, she's punched him in the throat, and he's knocked flat on his ass.

"I'm being a bitch because I  _am_ a bitch; now  _piss off_." She snarled, and he's scrambling from the club, hissing curses at her as he bleeds a trail to the door from his nose. Quietly, Lola's very glad Tom left when he did. It's now that she looks around, sees the shocked faces of patrons all around, and she's about to apologise, but then someone's clapping, and like that, everyone goes back to their chatter. There's a crash from near the bar that she ignores.

"Go home, girlie," Mick's voice is by her shoulder moments later, as Lola's wiping the jerk's blood from her knuckles onto her jeans.

"No, I'm fine-" she tries to insist, but then he's resting a gentle hand on her shoulder, keeping her from heading to the equipment.

"Kid, if you get blood on the equipment-"

"Nikki would just think it's cool, besides," Lola flexed the fingers of her mostly clean hand, "it's not my blood." And she grins, triumphant, bright and shiny, but there's nothing behind her eyes. Mick sighs deeply, shaking his head.

"I've got someone who can help me pack up, but more impo-"

" _No_." Lola's voice is firm. "I don't need pity, that- it was nothing. People are the worst; let me do my job." A pause came after her words, and Mick's exasperation only seemed to deepen as he looked past her.

"It's not pity; Tommy fell off the bar and I need you to get him out of here." 

Lola sighs.

Tommy can't walk in a straight line. It's closer to an unsteady wave as they walk down The Strip towards the Whiskey, and Lola's apartment, and she watches bemused as he talks to people spilling from bars at intervals down the road. People recognise him, cheer for him, and he's all bright smiles as answer. That is, when he's not on his knees throwing up into the gutter. She'd taken his drumsticks before they'd even gotten out the door, making sure they wouldn't accidentally stab him in moments exactly like this, and now they were safely tucked away in her back pocket.

The stars are bright overhead despite the light pollution, and Lola's happy to trail a few steps behind, watching with amusement, her hands in her pockets, or petting the poor kid on the back when he needs the support. She's seen him legless, but never this early, never this badly.

"Hey, sorry you," he pauses to hiccup and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, getting to his feet only a block from her house, "sorry you got stuck with babysitting duty," Tommy half laughs, a little self conscious.

"Making sure you don't brain yourself on the sidewalk, or impale yourself on your sticks isn't babysitting," Lola tells him, easily sliding into step beside him. He's humming a half remembered melody, mirroring Lola with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. A silence falls between them, comfortable and easy, Tommy occasionally drifting to the side, but he seems to be able to catch himself, and it's only when they're at the foot of the stair to the apartment that Lola remembers what happened earlier that night.

"There was a rep from Elektra at the show tonight."

Tommy stops dead in his tracks, and Lola's a few steps ahead before she turns back to him. His eyes are wide, disbelieving, his grip white knuckled on the railing as he gazes at her, agape. Then he's laughing, bright and wide, excited and whooping, still drunk off his ass, elated at the prospect of a rep even  _seeing_ them, and when Lola tells him that Zutaut loved their sound, Tommy almost chokes on his breath.

He's bright and ecstatic and Lola can't help but marvel at his energy, but there it is again, that moment of disappointment that washes through her as she knows she needs to hold herself back. She's happy for him, for all of them, but something about his excitement draws her to him; she can't help but think of Nikki's words, about how every time Tommy pays her half a compliment-

"Dude are you coming? You're the one with keys, right?" Tommy's grinning at the top of the stairs, and Lola follows quickly. "They'll all be here soon, but-" he smells his own breath as she lets them into the apartment and he actually gags, "yeah I should get water... something."

"Is that going to be enough?" Lola joked, and Tommy actually stuck his tongue out at her.

"You didn't need to come with me, Lols," Tommy yells from their bathroom, and Lola laughs lightly from the kitchen, searching for the pills she knew she had in one of cupboards. "Seriously, you could have left me, packed up or whatever, you didn't need to-" And then he's leaning on the kitchen counter behind her, moving to sit on it, taller than he had any right to be, and Lola's turning on her heel.

Something Lola had noted not long after they'd met, is that no matter how fucked up he got, Tommy was a surprisingly coherent drunk, and could keep conversation much better than he should rightly be able to. Whether or not he remembers the conversation is another matter altogether.

"I do what I want, babes," she tells him, matter-of-factly, and he's too drunk to refrain from commenting.

"I  _know_ ," he snickers, and Lola steps up to him rests her hands on his thighs where his heels are absentmindedly kicking the counter, "no-one tells you what to do," Tommy grins, clearly ignorant to Lola's angry apprehension, "they try and you just-" he punches her shoulder lightly, clearly still drunk, and already her anger's melting, "like that asshole earlier; fuckin' awesome." 

Sometimes he says stupid stuff without thinking, but in moments like this, even without realising, he covers easily. God, Nikki's right; her heart's softening again- the  _barest_ compliment- Her nails dig into his thighs just a little and that gets his attention, looking back at her with a sharp smile.

"You're pretty awesome yourself," Lola hears herself saying, and Tommy hops down from the counter, into Lola's space. His smile is amused as he takes her face in his hands, squeezing her cheeks enough that she's making a face and he's snorting with laughter.

And maybe it's that she's sick of people taking her for granted, of hearing they only wanting her around because they want to fuck her, and that hearing someone grateful to have her around makes her heart flutter just a little, but in this moment, Tommy's drunken laughter is the best thing she's ever heard, and she's fucking tired of pretending like she doesn't want him.

"You do this a lot," his laughter is dying down, and now he's just looking at her, at her face in his hands, and she knows he's talking about her habit of holding his face for a few moments before moving on.

"What can I say, I can't help myself," Lola murmurs, heart in her throat. There's a moment, her expression softens, just a little, letting herself smile a little at him.

Tommy scrunches up his face very deliberately after a moment, letting go of her to shove gently at her shoulders. She moves back without hesitation, had seen the way he'd hesitated before moving, seen his gaze flick to her lips, but all that she could feel was confusion as he rubbed a hand over his face, laughing though there was no humour in it.

"You keep doing that-  _fuck_ , you keep doing that, keep saying stuff like that - do you  _want_ me to get my ass kicked?" He asks, actually seems a little put out as he opens the fridge and gets himself a beer, "it feels like some sort of sick fuckin' game, like the moment I slip up I'm out of the band, right? It's a test."

For a moment, she feels like she's been winded. There's the sound of a crowd making their way down the street, a well known sound, but it's like the ticking of a clock. Tommy cracks open his beer. 

In this moment, she knows she could do anything, be anything, say anything and convince him, be confident and dismissive of the claim, be flirty, convince him he's being paranoid, but Tommy's too honest, and far too drunk for her to manipulate him so dishonestly like that, and more importantly, she doesn't  _want_ to. In a moment of rare honesty on her own part, she drops her gaze frowning.

"Nikki's just worried about the band, and he knows-  _he and I_ know that I have a habit of," tipping her head to the side, she moves around the kitchen getting herself a drink and downing the pills, after swallowing, she takes a seat on the counter where Tommy had been sitting; he's watching her, following her every word; she restarts her thought, finally meeting his gaze, "Tommy, I'm  _really_ good at ruining good things, and this band is a  _very good thing_." After a beat, she ducks her gaze, voice growing quieter. "You're a good thing." She mumbles, a blush rising on her cheeks. 

The noise outside is louder now; they're probably at the Whiskey. If Lola or Tommy notice, neither seems to care.

"So it's not a test? No-one's gonna kick my ass?" Tommy stepped forwards, still nursing his beer, "you're not gonna kick my ass if I try anything? No -?" and he steps into her space, punching her shoulder playfully, adding his own sound effects as he does so, and Lola can't help but laugh.

"I like you too much to kick your ass," Lola admits, finally looking up at him, her smile affectionate and genuine, and he's grinning, a eyes shining with amusement. 

"There you go again, sayin' that sweet shit; how did I ever think you were a stone cold badass?" 

"Because I  _am_ a stone cold badass, dude, you just know me better now," her smile mirrors his, and she makes room for him to stand between her legs. It's strange to consider that he does actually know her, that they've been friends for months by now, working together and partying together, both so worried about what it would mean to reach out, and yet they still ended up here. She reaches up, taking his face in her hands, and she watches him snicker, remembering the moment they'd been sharing only a few minutes earlier, "and, well, somethin' 'bout you just makes me..." she trails off, the thought too sappy to even voice, but the gentleness in her smile, in her eyes, conveys everything she can't bring herself to say. 

Her hands drop from his face, trailing down his shoulders until she's taking his hands where they're resting on the counter either side of her. People are making their way inside, but they seem to have the good sense to avoid Lola and Tommy, who are ignoring them all.

"I feel like we were having a moment earlier," Tommy muses with a smirk, and Lola tips her head to the side, confused and amused.

"We're having a moment now, dumbass."

"Yeah, but do you think I can apologise for ruining that moment without ruining this one?" He asks, leaning in.

"Depends; will you remember any of this tomorrow?" Lola asks, looking from his lips to his eyes, watching his eyebrows rise.

"Will you be there to remind me?" 

And it's so sweet, equal parts genuine and flirty, and Lola can feel her heart in her throat, eyes widening at the request, giving his hands an involuntary squeeze. 

Something about this, about her like this, it has affection stirring in Tommy's chest, he's never seen her like this around anyone else, neither Tommy nor Vince, nor any person she's been interested in, and for a moment there's doubt in his mind, that this is another mask, one she's crafted specifically for him, but she's been too honest, too vulnerable -

She licks her lips, gives an actual,  _hopeful_ and  _sweet_ smile.

"I'll be there."

She lets him make the first move, still half convinced he might bolt now that they're surrounded by people, but he doesn't; doesn't hesitate, doesn't wait, just winds his arms around her, his lips on hers, warm and gentle, mouth fitting so well against hers, and he tastes like beer and she tastes like spirits, and together they definitely taste like some sort of terrible decision. But he's smiling against her, pulling her closer, and Lola can't help but break away, a giggle escaping her, so overjoyed and overwhelmed in equal measure after everything that's gone down.

So much has happened tonight, and she can still feel Zutaut's business card poking her where it was still stuffed in her bra, and she can feel a swell of pride in her chest every time she thinks about it. 

"Dude, stop fucking girls in the kitchen," they both hear the very familiar voice of Nikki Sixx over the general hubbub, and Tommy freezes. When Lola leans back, turns to look over her shoulder and give Nikki a smile that's all teeth, the drummer can't help the worry that he inflicts upon himself, pressing his forehead to her collar.

"What if the girl lives here and says it's okay?"

Tommy snickers, and raises his head to finally look at Nikki, who's looking back and forth between the two of them. The bass player's gaze finally locks with Lola's, and it's like a whole conversation plays out between them across the room, without a word being spoken. 

Nikki's frowning a little, but then Lola makes a very pointed jerking off motion, giving a look to a girl a few feet away from Nikki, who Tommy thinks he recognises from the bar, and Nikki's jaw clenches as he turns pink. After a beat, Lola gives a smile placating smile and pulls Zutaut's business card from her bra and waves it enticingly before putting it in their empty fruit bowl beside herself, and that seems to calm Nikki down enough; he looks between Tommy and Lola again, before he actually smiles a little, and shakes his head with exasperation, but not disapproval. He moves on, steps up to the girl from the pub; Tommy looks back to Lola, who seems a little smug.

"See, no worry, no stress," Lola's voice is low, surprisingly calming, and Tommy realises the latent panic at the idea of ' _being with Nikki's girlfriend_ ' must show on his face. Lola takes his chin between her thumb and forefinger, watching as his expression shifts to faint embarrassment, "he's got no moral leg to stand on anyways; you get your dick out at the bar of the Troubadour and you're no longer allowed to judge anyone else," she laughs, dropping her hand to the counter, leaning back a little.

"Fuck, I love you," Tommy breathes, and Lola's eyes widen.

"I'm not fucking you in the kitchen, that was a joke," she blurts out, and then Tommy's laughing, his forehead against her shoulder, and she's suddenly self conscious, just a little, "I mean, I- dude you're  _fucked_ , and I don't want to take advantage of you, 'specially not in such a crowded- I mean, honestly  _any_ other night-"

"Dude, babe, that's whatever, I just- fuck, I'm a dumbass sometimes, don't worry."

And so Lola, who had too many feelings and couldn't even begin to articulate them, followed the advise of Tommy, who also had too many feelings and was willing to articulate them at the drop of a hat, and didn't worry about it. Mostly. For a moment, she actually enjoyed it; whether or not he meant it the way he said it, it didn't matter. Threading her fingers through his hair, she pulled him in for another kiss.


	14. you're the only thing that's making any sense to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> domestic moments, the band gets a record deal and everyone’s celebrating in the way they best know now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw big time but not full smut, drinking, drugs, had a breakdown from dan howell’s new video in the middle of writing this and i have work in 3 hours (it’s 6am) this goes a lot of places and also seemingly does nothing. please feedback?? highkey moments for all of lola/mc, and poly!lola is officially being established

Lola's the one who organises the meeting for them, though she doesn't go; she's their assistant, but this is a band decision, and besides, she was covering a shift at the hotel and couldn't make it even if she'd wanted to.

Instead, she wakes at about noon to the sound her alarm, shoving Nikki where he grumbles about it, and climbs over him to shut off the alarm and start getting read. It's the fourth one she's had in as many months, since both she and Nikki have a habit of tossing it across the room in favour of getting up. She searches for the cleanest uniform she can manage amid the grubby chaos of their bedroom.

"Don't forget; meeting at the Rainbow after practice," she tells the still mostly asleep bassist, dropping  quick kiss on his cheek before she's carrying her pile of clothes to the bathroom.

"Vince!" She kicks at the door of the spare room where Vince has been staying since Beth had kicked him out of her place. Vince, who's got a marginally more coherent sleep schedule, pulls the door open, wearing sweat pants holding a copy of Rolling Stone that looked like it had been set alight at one point.

"Any particular reason you're out here screamin' your head off?" He asks, leaning against the doorframe, taking a moment to appreciate her soft, unguarded state in the midday light. Lola steps up to him, kissing him softly in greeting.

"You've got a meeting after rehearsals, it's at the Rainbow; don't let Nikki forget." Much softer this time, Lola reminds him about Elektra, and steps out of his space before he can wrap his arms around her like is often want to do. At his pout, she laughs, turning on her heel, "I've got work." Is her only explanation, but Vince just snickers and heads back to lounge on the bed until Nikki decided to wake up.

When she's done showering and dressed, Lola makes two calls; Mick and Tommy. If nothing else, she at least tries to earn her title of assistant. Her hair's up in a towel and she's got the kettle on when Mick answers. It's brief, and he thanks her for the reminder, lets her know he'll be around at four, and they hang up. 

When she calls Tommy, his sister answers.

"Hey Athena, it's Lola, is Tommy awake?" Lola asks, voice kind, and the girl on the other end of the line covers the receiver before shouting the drummer's name through the house. After a beat, Lola can hear the faint mumbling of someone,  _not Tommy, probably a parent_ , scolding her. Athena then uncovers the receiver.

" _He's on his way_ ," she says, and sounds weirdly smug. There's a beat of time where Lola assumes Tommy's making his way to the phone, and Athena asks when the band will play somewhere she can go watch, somewhere she can actually meet Lola; " _come on, he won't shut up about you, I mean you and the band but I've_ met  _the band-_ "

" _Who is it?_ " Tommy's voice is faint over the other end of the line, and Lola can feel herself blush just a little at his sister's words.

" _Lola_ ~" Athena all but sings, and there's some sharp noises, line the phone's being roughly grabbed, and a muffled shout, like someone's got their hand over the receiver, probably Tommy as his voice is far closer as he tells Athena she's annoying. Lola can't help her grin through the whole altercation.

" _Sorry about her,_ " Tommy breathes once he's got the phone to his ear, " _what's up?_ "

"Don't apologise for her, it's cute; do really talk about me and the band that much?" 

"' _Thena, you're dead_ ," Tommy doesn't even bother to cover the receiver this time, though his voice is dampened like he's shouting over his shoulder. Lola just laughs.

"Don't worry about it, dude, I just called to remind you about practice, and your meeting tonight," Lola tells him, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder as she unwraps her hair from it's towel, throwing the towel over the arm of the sofa, leaning against the wall where the phone was connected.

" _Oh hell yeah! Awesome!_ " Tommy's mood shifts immediate, and something tightens in Lola's chest to be able hear the smile in his voice. " _Four, right? I'll be there._ "

"Well alright, babes, I gotta finish getting ready for work, good luck for tonight-"

" _You're not gonna be there_?" He actually sounded disappointed, and Lola couldn't help her fond smile. Though he couldn't see it, he could hear it when she spoke.

"I'm working a double, covering for one of my casuals," she paused, "but I finish at ten, if you're still around after that we can see who's playing; I think  _Sucker Puns_  is playing the Starwood." And he's agreeing quick, joyous and bright, quick to wish her a good afternoon, and then they're saying their goodbyes and hanging up. The kettle finishes boiling.

Lola's pouring milk into her coffee when Vince joins her in the kitchen, now changed into a white singlet and a pair of brightly coloured shorts, making a beeline for the fridge.

"Could you grab me the Easy Cheese while you're in there?" She asks, capping the milk and handing it over, pointedly ignoring Vince's look of disgust at the bottle of cheese he hands her, swapping it for the milk, which he puts away. Lola's already turned away from him, picking through the bread to find a slice without mold and throwing away the other two she had to go past to find it.

"How do you stand that shit? No cheese is actually that colour," Vince frowns as she sprays an upsetting amount of incredibly processed, orange cheese spread onto the single piece of bread.

"I don't know a lot about cheese," Lola starts, carefully folding the bread in half, taking a big bite and turning to Vince, leaning against the counter; he looks a little horrified, there's cheese almost leaking from the bread, "but I feel like, in my heart, you're wrong," Lola tells him, mouth full of bread and cheese sauce, "besides, it's my dad's favourite-" she took another bite, "so don't be a dick." Though that's mostly unintelligable. 

After a long, drawn out pause, they both break out into laughter, Lola with a hand over her mouth to keep from spitting food, but she's quick to finish, and wash it down, gulping down half her coffee in one go.

"Your food habits fuckin' horrify me, you know that?" But Vince is smiling as he steps up to her, wrapping his arms around her where she's leaning against the counter, holding her coffee to her chest. "Nikki living off of hotdogs and whiskey and pills, I can deal with that shit, but you-" he shakes his head, laughing.

"Cheese is good, Vince," Lola fires back, taking another sip of coffee, before reaching back to put the cup on the bench, "and it's cheap; the less I spend on food, the more I can put towards booze and other stuff, you know." Vince's smile is exasperated but somehow endeared, and he reaches up to scratch at her scalp with one of his hands. Lola leans into it, watching him.

"You could be a millionaire and still be downing that plastic, orange shit like it was water," he snickers, though there's no malice behind it, and Lola gives him a gentle shove.

"You gonna kiss me or are you afraid it's gonna taste like cheese?"

He smirks at her like it's a challenge, leaning in and pressing a single, chaste kiss to her lips, something warm and surprisingly tender about it, but then his hands are ghosting down her sides until he's pushing her obnoxious work skirt up, hands on her thighs. By the time he's got his hands on her ass, he raises a single, questioning eyebrow at her. Lola steps her feet apart, never breaking eye contact, still smiling as Vince sinks to his knees. Lola's laugh is low and heady, tipping her head back, and she leans further back on her hands on the counter, all thoughts of the frivolous argument leaving her head.

"I don't have a lot of time, Vin."

"I don't need a lot of time," and she can feel him grinning at his own cockiness as he presses a kiss to the stretch marks along her inner thighs.

Moments like this with this, passing interactions, beats of domestic familiarity, are becoming a far more regular occurrence. Not just with Vince, who throws around casual contact like it's nothing - and hadn't  _that_  been strange at first, for the girl who was so used to keeping painfully discrete for fear of jealous girlfriends or groupies - but it's as if everything's shifted. Perhaps it's having someone around who didn't hesitate to reach out, to make contact even with other people around, that made Lola feel more comfortable reaching out to Nikki too. And, of course, Tommy. Even Mick, at times, though that was far more platonic, but he, at the very least, seemed to enjoy her company. He'd even taking to wrapping an arm around her shoulders when he wanted to discuss something about the setup or pack down; a vast improvement from the guy who didn't want her around to begin with.

Lola doesn't think about it too much, because if she does she starts to grin, blushy and unrestrained and completely against the image she's cultivated for herself. It's not really anything serious, they all still have lives, and they all still have groupies, in a manner of speaking, but it makes her  _happy_  in ways she can't quite articulate. 

They're in her thoughts for her full nine hour shift. Every smoke break she takes she considers how long it would take to run to the Rainbow, but ultimately decides that it would ruin her look to show up in her work uniform. The casual she was covering for had been part of the housekeeping staff, and Lola hadn't been a housekeeper for so long, she forgets how much she hated it, and how disgusting people were, which was saying something considering who she lived with.

By eight, she's flagging and ready to head home, and by ten, she's really half-assing everything, though she knows she can get away with it. When she clocks out, she practically runs the six blocks home. It's not a short distance, but it's habit more than anything else, and when she drags the window open and climbs inside, remembering how Nikki had nailed the door shut after the last party had brought the cops and left the lock ineffective, Tommy's the only one there. He looks about ready to burst with excitement.

"Did it go-"

"They gave us a fucking record deal!" He yells, and Lola, not one to be underdone, matches his energy, actually screams, and practically launches herself at the drummer. Managing to wrap herself around him like a koala, he stumbles back from the force, glad for the sofa behind him as they both go crashing down.

"Fuck yeah! Hell yeah! Fuck yeah you got a record deal!" Lola's babbling, leaning back and taking Tommy's face in her hands where she's sitting in his lap. She's beaming, positively glowing with enthusiasm, and Tommy's right alongside her, tapping at her thighs, grinning up at her. "I'm so proud, I'm so fucking-" but she cuts herself off, can't help herself, kisses him hard, letting go of his face to fist her hands in the collar of his shirt, as if desperate to be as close as possible.

But then she's leaning back, eyes wide, mouth moving a mile a minute.

"I'm still in my uniform, fuck, I- where's the others? Are they out celebrating- lemme get changed-" She rattled off, a frown slowly creasing her forehead, and Tommy leaned back into the sofa, laughing.

"Oh, dude we are absolutely going and getting completely fuckin' blitzed tonight, but there's no rush; the guys are at the Starwood." He adds, and Lola takes a deep breath, taking the moment to calm down, to recenter herself. His hands are so steady and warm where they're resting atop her thighs, and he's grinning, because of course he is, because he's Tommy and he's busting at the seams with excitement at any given moment, but he can still reel it back to let Lola breath, and something about that makes Lola's heart warm.

"You're a fucking rockstar," she murmurs, leaning forward again, and something about how she's looking at him, the glint in her eyes and the way she wets her lips, Tommy never wants this moment to end.

"Yeah," he agrees quietly, "fuck, it doesn't feel real, you know?" 

"No other band on The Strip works half as hard," Lola drags the nails of her left hand so gently up the side of his throat, to hold his jaw in one hand, and he leans into it, hums in agreement as she murmurs reverentially, before pressing a kiss to his jaw, "or deserves it half as much."

" _Fuck_ , Lols-" he groans, his grip on her getting tighter, and Lola hums in acknowledgement, but presses a kiss to his throat, "fuck, you just-" but he cuts himself off, and Lola sits back a little, watching with confusion.

"I'm  _so proud of you_ , dude, I just- I want to show you, want to-"

And it's like a switch has been flipped in his mind, like he remembers the whole conversation they'd had just a few days ago, like he remembers that he's allowed to  _want_ her like this. He surges forwards and crushes his lips to hers, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of her work shirt. 

It's awkward at first, fumbling with clothes, and quietly adoring laughter when Tommy grimaces at the state of the sofa, but then Lola's in her underwear, straddling his thighs, kissing him like it's her mission in life, and his hand moves between her legs, and they find a way to fit together. They find themselves a rhythm and it feels  _right._

They fuck on the sofa, and then again in the bedroom when Lola goes to get changed, and she lets him lead. She's tentative, doesn't want to go too hard or too rough, doesn't want to hold on too tight lest he run the moment she lets go. But his curses sound like prayers, and his nails sting so good where he's holding her hips, and she can't help herself. She scrapes her nails hard up his back, and the sensation has him shivering and groaning, arching into her, and she bites his shoulder to muffle her own moans.

Lola's not in her usual ' _going out_ ' attire, settling for a pair of jeans and t-shirt she'd picked up off the floor. As she goes to leave the apartment, however, Tommy, who's grinning like the Cheshire Cat and smelling like sweat and sex and hairspray, offer his hand. Tentatively, she takes it, not quite sure what was happening, and surprised when he doesn't let go. Hand in hand, they head to the Starwood. They both just chat excitedly about the record deal, they talk about what actually happened at the meeting, and not about what just happened, and not about whatever it is that was currently happening.

All three of the other band members, as well as a very awkward Tom Zutaut, were all at the bar, and all cheered when Lola and Tommy showed up. They dropped hands automatically, but neither seemed to mind. While Tommy ordered a drink, Lola made a beeline for Zutaut.

"You made the right choice," she told him with a sudden, unwavering seriousness. Zutaut smiled, but didn't seem nearly as intimidated as the first time he met her.

"I like to hope so," he laughed a little, "so how do you know these guys? Do you just work for them or were you friends- ?"

"I've lived with Nikki for years." She answers honestly, half smiling, and that seemed to unnerve him out more than anything else. The woman turned abruptly to face the bassist, who had discretely been watching the interaction, and her whole expression lit up.

"I heard a rumour that we're getting shitfaced tonight," Lola grins sharply, making her way to him, letting him wrap an arm around her, opening his leather jacket to indicate the bag of white powder tucked away from the public eyes. 

"If I remember any of tonight that isn't me signin' a fuckin' record contract, I'm gonna be  _severely_ disappointed in myself." Nikki announced, and Lola laughs, and she rests her chin on his shoulder. She tells him she's proud, tells him she knows how much this means to him, but her voice is low, quiet enough that none of the others can hear, and honest enough that it makes Nikki's breath catch in his throat for a moment. When he turns, she's gazing at him with such love and adoration that is almost hurts. 

He never wants her to stop looking at him like that.

And for just a beat, she a look of realisation passes over her face, and like she wants to say something- but she can't. She looks away.

The night is a blur of revelries, of booze and blow and pills and strippers, and Lola shuts up about how proud she is about half an hour in, by the time she's good and tipsy, but it's always there in the glint of her eyes, the curve of her smile. 

Every so often she'll reach out, her fingers gentle where she holds Nikki's wrist, and the first time he'd frowned, asked if everything was okay, and she'd nodded, but hadn't let go for a few moments. It's strange and endearing to watch the way she interacts with the others, Nikki notes, because he's known Lola long enough to know when she was sleeping with someone on the regular. Something about this is... different.

Vince is  _loud_ and tactile, and Lola's grown comfortable tucking herself up beside him, his arm around her waist while they hold two different conversations with two different people, barely paying each other attention, just enjoying the contact. With Tommy it's - horrifying as the concept is -  _sweet_. They share looks, share laughs, and occasionally, when they think no-one's looking, they'll steal a kiss and Lola will turn pink and Tommy will turn smug and it's weirdly endearing. 

And with Nikki? She can read him like a book, but out of habit they're discrete. Standing or sitting close enough that they're shoulder to shoulder when there's so much extra space, or she'll take his wrist, or rest her hand on his for a few moments beneath a table. Or Lola will be the one to reach out, make moves that can be construed as platonic, and fill them with meaning that only the two of them are privy to. 

Yes, the night is a blur, and he's pretty sure he's going to regret not remembering whatever he and Lola and that stripper got up to in the private room, but when he tumbles into bed, they're both too tired to do more than peel off their various layers of leather and jeans and fall into bed together, but when they're alone Lola's clingy, and they're both too fucked up to really hear Vince's date for the night through the walls, he's coming down enough to appreciate Lola's reverential tone, voice quiet and a little slurred, but so damn sincere when she tells him that she knows he's gonna go far, when she waxes poetic about the way he plays and writes. In the back of his mind he knows she's drunk and enthusiastic, and that maybe he should take what she says with a grain of salt, or that he could be hallucinating.

She's in that high, hyper focused state, the two of them laying facing one another, and she's gazing at him with a distracted smile like she's trying to commit his face in this moment to memory.

"You and me against the world," she murmurs, reaching out to gently hold his chin, as if to keep him in place, "it was always you and me against the world." It's followed by such a gentle laugh, and Nikki can't even begin to keep himself guarded from his own real emotions.

"When you get all big and take off, will you take me with you?"

He's not sure what she means but her voice has gone quiet, barely more than a whisper, her expression so raw, pleading almost, desperate for an answer. He doesn't even have to think about it, just wraps her up in his arms, pulls her close, tries to stave off her worries with the physical contact. She buries against him, warm and solid and so familiar.

"Of course, Lo, always."


	15. can't buy happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elektra’s record deal brings a windfall of cash into the lives of the band members, and as a former runaway, Lola’s not sure what to do with her newfound, legitimate salary. tommy moves in, the band meets doc, and they make it clear that lola’s staying on as part of the team. vince and lola have a moment that turns into a night which ends up interrupted by tommy but it all works out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drug use, drinking, implied/referenced nsfw, some violence, it’s 7am and this is super all over the place im so sorry omg

With the record deal comes cash, more of it than Lola had ever really considered in her life, and she suddenly feels like a kid again; uncertain, worried, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The others aren't like that, obviously, taking the opportunity to party as hard as they physically can between gigs, but most of her money goes into rent, bills, and fuelling her various drug and alcohol problems. Anything she couldn't afford, or anything she wanted that wasn't some sort of consumable, she usually stole or found on the street. Before Nikki, before the group home, she'd never had money of her own, any she would earn would be taken from her and " _put into a college fund, so she could grow up and make dad proud_ " at least, that's what her mom told her. She had no idea where any of that money was now.

The point is, the band now had a payroll, and she was at the top of it, being paid an exorbitant amount for basically doing the same thing she'd been doing for the past few months. She kept most of it in a secure location in cash, having never been properly taught about basic adult tasks, like opening a bank account, but it worked for her, for now.

But, in all honesty, living with Nikki and Vince meant she actually didn't want for much. Clothes around the apartment were mostly communal property, apart from pants, which due to Lola's hips and thighs, and Nikki's height, meant they were the only items that weren't interchangeable between the three of them. Not long after, Nikki asks Tommy to move in, cites that they can afford half decent mattresses, and it would mean he could move out of his parents' house; he couldn't agree fast enough.

"Is it- you know, is it weird?" Lola overhears Tommy talking with Vince during practice, the two taking a smoke break out the front, looking out at the Strip as they leaned against the railing. The window's open and Lola's picking up bottles from around the apartment in preparation for the party that night, but she stops. They don't see her, neither of them looking out at the city, but she's worried that Tommy's going to be scared off before he even moves all of his shit in.

"What do you mean?" Vince asks, and Tommy just makes a vague noise that makes Vince laugh. "Lola? Do you mean 'cos of Lola?"

"Yeah, like isn't it weird, with her and Nikki, and you know," Tommy trails off, a little self consciously. It doesn't seem to bother the blonde, however, who hums for a moment.

"Dude, it's the same as not living here, 'long as you aren't the jealous type, you know?" Vince's grin was clear in his words, and Tommy huffed out a laugh, "go with the flow, you'll live longer." Vince claps him on the shoulder and Lola breathes a sigh of relief she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

Tommy adapts to their terrible, roach infested apartment fast, and for that Lola is grateful. She'd been worried, though she needn't have been.

"Dude, you don't work, why've you gotta leave?" He whines, his face pressed into her chest where she's sitting on his lap on the sofa, her duffel bag on her shoulder. Lola laughed, running her fingers through his hair, pulling back. When he looks up at her, his smile is sharp but there's something strangely soft shining in his eyes.

"So I can lift a quad box on my own," she murmured, and Tommy hummed appreciatively at the mental image, his hands sliding over the shiny material of her tights on her thighs. "I can already haul you dumbasses around and make it look easy," she smirked, "I need a challenge."

Tommy takes that as a challenge unto himself, and seems to make it hid personal mission in life to ride around on Lola's shoulders whenever the opportunity presented itself. His favourite was after gigs, at the bar, drunk and elated and on top of the world. Lola's a good base for stunts like this, and, not that she'll admit it out loud, enamoured enough with Tommy that she doesn't complain. Sometimes some of the other groupies at the bar, pretty waifish girls who cling to the band, give her dirty, confused looks, but she doesn't care. For the moment, she's thankful for her broad shoulders, thick thighs, and stocky build; Tommy tends to squirm, even if he doesn't mean to, but Lola finds it easy to keep him balanced.

There's parties at their house almost every night now; if it's not a party, it's practice, and they're in the recording studio every few days working on recording their first album. And Lola's there for all of it.

There's a hierarchy amongst the groupies of the Strip; girls who dated band members were at the top of the list, followed by girls who would see every show they could, followed by the more casual groupies, and Lola's always been in a sort of weird, grey area as she works with the bands, she's more in a league of her own. But there's no denying that with Motley Crue's success, and the nature of her relationship with them, Lola's found herself at the top of the hierarchy without even trying.

Beyond, she also gets along well with Zutaut; he respects her work ethic, and has a surprising penchant for partying, or at least, he seems to spend a fair amount of time at the parties the band held at their apartment. Lola  _blooms_ at parties. She's a hostess when she wants to be, not proud of the grubby, cramped apartment, but proud of herself, her boys, and the people they have in attendance. Mostly.

"Lola, baby," Vince catches her hand as she's making her way to the kitchen to grab a new drink for herself, and David Lee Roth, who'd taken up residence on their sofa for the night, her smile is bright, and she lets herself get pulled back to the table where the rest of the band had gathered, "you want a bump?" He asks, nudging Nikki who was cutting up lines of coke on a cymbal as they spoke. Lola hummed, deliberated for half a moment before she sat herself in Vince's lap, taking the cymbal as it was offered.

"Always," she grinned, making short work of the coke. She passes the cymbal back, trying to get back to her original task after giving him a quick kiss.

"You're always rushin' off," he mused, and Lola gave a small smile, getting to her feet.

"'cos I've got people to entertain, ass to kiss, I see you lot every day," her smile turns a little pleased, a little catty, "excuse me if I don't turn down a request from  _Diamond Dave._ "

As it turns out, she doesn't have time to even get back to the Van Halen singer before some random asshole tries to score a hit from the band, before Mick shoves him out of the way. The man, who's relatively wasted already, crashes into the wall, into the nice, ornate mirror that Lola had fished out of a dumpster a few months ago, knocking it off the wall and shattering it over Dave's head. He seems unperturbed, merely picking glass from his hair, but the rest of Motley Crue are on their feet in moments.

"Chill out, asshole, it's cool," the guy slurs, stumbling to his feet as Nikki's already yelling at him. Lola carefully puts both drinks she'd collected onto their table, slotting herself in to stand between Vince and Tommy, her expression cold; the hostess in her had left, only to be replaced with the security detail in her.

"Cool?" Nikki snarled, "that is  _David Lee Roth;_ how about you show a little respect or get the  _fuck_ out." He demanded, practically towering over the other man, who seemed high or drunk enough to not be intimidated.

"Make me, motherfucker," the man snapped, shoving Nikki, who went stumbling back. Lola's ready to vault the table, or at the very least, step around Vince, but she doesn't seem to need to, as a stocky man who looks out of place steps up and punches the other man in the face, pinning him with a foot on his neck, holding the man's hand behind his back. Lola feels a rush of respect towards this newcomer. He smiles at the bewildered faces of the band members, his eyes bright.

"You fellas are gonna need a manager." He grins, much to the confusion of the others, before he nods at the glass covered musician on the sofa, nodding in familiarity, "hey, Dave."

"What's everybody looking at?" He mutters in response, and the tension breaks, the rest of the party goers laugh and go back to their own conversations. Lola ferries Dave his drink and he thanks her with a half smile, but her mind's too focused on getting the rowdy drunkard from her house.

"Oh, good, you met Doc," Zutaut tells them with his trademark, nervous enthusiasm, shouldering his way through the crowd to the scene of the commotion.

"I can take it from here," Lola gestures to the man on the floor, and Doc raises an eyebrow at her. He gives her a quick look over and hands over the other man's raised hand, stepping back.

"He works with James Brown, Kiss, you name it," Zutaut's still smiling, clapping Doc on the shoulder, despite the way Mick's expression is souring.

"Fuckin' hate Kiss."

Lola yanks the man to his feet, misses most of the rest of their exchange as she holds both his arms behind his back with one hand, holding his collar with the other as she pushes him to the door. He's yelling, slurring, hollering at her for having the  _gall_ to try and kick him out. He wriggles, tries his hardest to break her grip, even as she's shoving him out of their window onto the landing outside.

"If you don't shut the fuck up," Lola grunted, expression twisted into something resembling disgust as she had her hands on the man's ass, pushing roughly as he refused to go willingly through the window, "I'm gonna knock you the fuck out, and drag you down the stairs myself, you'll wake up in a dumpster and I'll be-" with a final shove, he was finally through. Landing face first, he scrambles to his feet, trying to get back in, but Lola's already climbed out after him, " _laughing_." She breathes after the exertion of getting him out, "I'll be laughing."

"Fuck you." He slurs, stumbling. It's all too easy for Lola to simply grab one of his wrists and start to drag him down the stairs. He's too focused on not falling down the stairs at the pace she's setting to try and attack or break free. He's still mumbling curses, but he's already seemed to have forgotten why he was angry by the time she's got him back on the footpath outside of the building. Turning him to face her, she holds him by the shoulders, looking him very seriously in the eye.

"If you come back here, I'm gonna cut you with part of that mirror you broke," she tells him, voice level and matter-of-fact. He blinks, frowns, hiccups. She has a whole rant planned out in her head, but it would be wasted on him. Instead, she spins him around three times to disorientate him, and sends him off down the sidewalk. He's got no fight left in him, thankfully, and he seems happy to trail away.

Lola groans and heads back to the party.

"I spent  _years_ trying to find a good, gold-edged mirror," she groans once she's back inside apartment, draping herself over Nikki where he's sat back at the table, resting her chin on top of his head. She's interrupting a conversation with Doc, but she can't bring herself to care.

"And this is -?" Doc gestures to a now pouting Lola. She's leaning heavily against him, her arms wrapped loosely around him. One of Nikki's hands finds hers, without even breaking eye contact with Doc, and he wraps his fingers around her wrist.

"Lola Gone; she's our security detail." Nikki's voice doesn't leave room for argument, but Lola's expression is smug when Doc's gaze flicks to it.

"Our roadie, too," Mick chimes in, before taking a sip from his beer, his tone just as resolute as Nikki's.

"Best roadie in LA," Tommy adds, inclining both his head and his drink towards Lola, and her smile softens a little at that.

"Yeah, she's the one I was telling you about over the phone; the assistant," they all hear it when Zutaut leans over to mutter to Doc, and the manager nodded seriously for a moment, considering her. He wasn't frowning, just...  _contemplative_.

"She's pretty integral to this whole thing, man," Vince fills in the dead air, and then all four members of Motley Crue, and Lola herself, were all staring down Zutaut and Doc.

"If she's what's been keeping the wheels turning, show-to-show, I wouldn't dream of getting rid of her," Doc smiles a carefully cultivated, show business smile, and Lola gave him her snake charmer smile in return, all teeth and the promise of a bigger bite. "You'll have to excuse me, Miss Gone, I'm not personally acquainted with your work, but I suppose I should have recognised you; your reputation precedes you." And Lola's not quite sure how to take that. Raising an eyebrow, she watches Doc's lips quirk into the barest smile, and he doesn't elaborate, but he compliments her on how well she was able to deal with the guy who broke the mirror.

Lola leaves them to it after that, grabs her now lukewarm drink and sweetly asks for a seat by Diamond Dave; the groupie who's curled herself up by him takes one look at Lola and moves, taking a seat on Dave's other side, on the arm of the sofa, making room for Lola. Lola gives the girls a sweet smile, holding out her hand for the girl, and when the girl takes it, Lola presses a kiss to the back of her hand, giving her an affectionate squeeze.

"Thank you, babe," Lola tells her, as sincerely as she can manage, before dropping her hand and nudging Dave's shoulder gently, "she's so sweet, isn't she?" She asks him pointedly. He looks up from the photoframe from which he was snorting up coke, passing it to Lola before looking up at the now flustered groupie. "Cute, too," Lola mentions with absolutely no tact, before doing a line, but he's not picky, and the groupie was quickly turning red.

She knows she has a chance if she wants to get in with the both of them, or whoever Dave ends up with, but her heart's not in it. She stays where she is for the moment because he's got some  _incredibly_ high quality blow, but her mind keeps playing the band's words over in her head; they may have overstated how valuable to the process overall - technically any roadie could do her job, just less efficiently - but it makes her feel strangely warm. Pleased.

Vince catches her smiling to herself, bopping along to music filtering in from the record player as she weaves in between people, trying to get to the fridge, and he smiles back at her when her gaze meets his. It's fond and kind in equal measure. Zutaut and Doc have dispersed into the crowd, and Tommy and Nikki are excitedly babbling over each other across Vince, and Mick's probably gone to lie down.

But Vince is watching Lola as she's dancing along to David Bowie, and he can't stop smiling.

"You guys like having me around," Lola laughed, low and a little awed, leaning against the railing on the landing outside. Vince holds out his lighter, lights the cigarette that's poised between her lips, and smirks. Before he can even begin to tease her for her terribly worded thought, she waived him off, clarifying, "like I  _know_ you guys like me, but like, it's nice to hear, you know?" Her smile was so pleased it almost bordered on smug and she pushed herself off the railing, stepping into his space and wrapping her arms around him. " _Integral_ ," she murmured, a teasing edge to her words, "where'd you learn a ten dollar word like that?"

"I could take it back," Vince raised his eyebrows at her, though he's pulling her closer, "go back in there, tell Doc you're a dime-a-dozen." But Lola doesn't seem perturbed by his obvious bluff, in fact, she's smiling like the cat who got the cream.

"But you wouldn't," she practically sang, though her voice was barely louder than a murmur, "you wanna keep me around and I'm not letting you take that back."

There's a moment where his expression softens; he's endeared by her cockiness, a fact of which she is well aware, but he can't help the way he smiles at her sometimes. Or perhaps it's that he knows she turned down a shot with David Lee Roth; it doesn't really matter if it was for anyone else specifically, she's with  _him_ here and now.

"Wouldn't want to, even if I could." Sometimes he's a sap, knows exactly what to say, how to push her buttons, but it's never malicious; he likes the way she smiles, the way she kisses him, the way she pulls him close. It's clear she's proud, it manages to bleed through in all her actions though she doesn't say it; she's reverential in the way she treats him, starry-eyed and adoring.

The only problem comes in the shape of Tommy, stumbling into the room, practically incoherent as the party's winding down. It's well past two and Lola and Vince were actually almost asleep.

"Did I-" Tommy hummed for a moment, before yawning loudly, "interrupt?" He was already struggling to pull off his leather pants, his shirt having been lost sometime earlier, as it was want to do.

"Just trying to get to sleep, dude," Vince hummed, tucking his face into the crook of Lola's neck, his chest pressed to her back. Lola yawned, her eyes staying firmly closed. They, however, did not stay this way, as a mostly pantless Tommy managed to bipass his own bed in the struggle with his pants, and fall directly on top of the pair. He lands with an ' _oof_ ' with his pants caught on the heel of one foot.

"Sorry."

Lola grumbles and Vince hits him on the back of the head, but Tommy doesn't move from the bed, just sits up and pulls off his pants with one final tug, before laying back down, this time beside them. Silence, very awkward silence, fills the room.

"You're in the wrong bed, Tommy," Vince tells him very pointedly. Tommy sighs and swears, but just shifts a little, as if getting more comfortable.

"How come your sheets are nicer than mine?"

"Because I paid top fuckin' dollar for these sheets the minute I could afford them," Vince informs him with a sigh. Lola hums, but reaches out, resting her hand on his hip, fingertips gently brushing circles against the bare skin of his upper thigh. Even in underwear he was still more decent than either Lola or Vince, who just had the blanket for modesty.

"Dude, you know we were fucking, right?" Lola asks, biting back a laugh. Tommy sighs.

"Yeah," he contemplates for a moment, "I should move, shouldn't I?" But he didn't. Instead, he shuffled back. "Is it weird if I stay?"

"At this point nothing's weird," Vince snickered, "I've seen you do some fucked up shit, man, and I'm too tired for it to be weird." He admitted, and Tommy let out a triumphant laugh.

"Oh, fuck that is too true, man;  _fuck_ this band is awesome," the grin is clear in his words, though neither of the other two can quite decipher exactly what he means by that, but then he's pulling the blanket up over himself, letting Lola pull him close.

"I mean, it's a bit weird, but that's mainly because you're still wearing socks," Lola tells him, and automatically Tommy starts wriggling, trying to pull at his socks, "now-  _oof, god why is your ass so bony?_ \- you're making it weird, dude, leave it." Lola half laughs, pulling him back to her, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade, as Tommy tries to apologise for his socks, "just shut up and be the little spoon."


	16. i won't smile but i'll show you my teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> doc and lola don’t get along, but he’s an authority figure so it’s not exactly a surprise. lola gets more responsibility, and things progress relationship-wise after a groupie’s comment sparks some jealousy, and not in the way you’d expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: drinking, drug use, some jealousy, sort of nsfw?? maybe?? also bi!poly!lola is canon biphobes die mad about it.

It comes as a surprise to everyone later during the week when Doc shows up at the recording studio asking for Lola. She, at the time, is about as high as the rest of them, laying on the floor and trying to balance a beer bottle on her forehead. She’s wearing a bra covered in metal spikes and a pair of black, cut off shorts, and her jacket and shoes had been dumped in a pile by the end of the sofa in the corner. If the sofa had been free from Mick, napping like a vampire in the middle of the day, she’d have been on it; the floor’s a grimy mess, and Vince is throwing things, trying to knock the bottle from her forehead where he’s in a swivel chair by the sound desk. Tommy and Nikki were in the recording booth, not that much productive work was getting done.

Doc takes one step into the room and worries for the barest moment that he’s made a mistake. Opening his mouth, he can’t even form words, not quite sure where to start.

“Lola, do you have a shirt you could put on?” He asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. Lola hums for a moment, nose sniffing and twitching as she tried to focus on the bottle on her forehead.

“No I do not,” she replied after a beat, “’s not today’s look.” And she says it with such conviction, that Doc almost isn’t exasperated. Almost.

“Well can you get up off the floor? There’s a meeting I’d like you to be at in fifteen minutes.”

Lola actually laughs, snorts, and the bottle slides off her forehead as she props herself up on her elbows. Vince throws a button at her and it hits the back of her head, but she doesn’t turn, just hears him snicker.

“Yeah, fuckin’ alright, tell us another one,” she smirks, amusement written all over her face. The newfound manager sighs deeply.

“It’s not a joke, it’s about figuring out the band’s needs for the foreseeable future-”

“Booze, blow, and babes.” Vince announces from where he’s spinning idly. Doc frowns at him for a moment and the blonde takes the time to lean over the beleaguered sound-tech to clue the two in the recording studio as to what was happening. Doc, though for the life of him he’s not sure why, waits for their response. Lola is still on the floor. Tommy nods adamantly in agreement with Vince. Nikki insists that it’s the most conductive thing for their creative process. They’re all high as hell and it’s not even midday.

“Lola, get up.” Doc orders her. Lola bites back on the venomous retort that bubbles to her lips, reminds herself how having a manager like Doc meant to Nikki and the rest of the band, and forces herself to smile. There’s a noticeable tick in her jaw as she slowly gets to her feet, but the band notices her argument-free compliance. If any of them had spoken to her like that, she’s have knocked them on their ass.

“Do you have  _anything_ more professional? A jacket?” It’s less of an order, and Doc seems relieved that she’d gotten up without a fight. Lola’s hand twitches for a moment at his request. Her movements are so controlled, so deliberate it’s almost painful, like she’s barely holding back each impulse that passes through her.

She pulls her jacket on, and walks out, followed by Doc, who goes to thank her for agreeing so quickly, but her smile’s fallen, any trace of it has vanished. Hands moving quickly, she’s pulling her hair into a ponytail with the elastic around her wrist as they walk, and she cuts him off mid-sentence.

“Don’t ever tell me what to do again.” Voice flat, it’s an order of her own rather than a warning. He contemplates this quietly, thoughtful rather than concerned.

“How about I  _ask_ you to do something once, maybe twice, and you do it, and you don’t fight me on it? Because I know you think you’re hot shit, but these aren’t small-time bands you’re working with for a night to pay the bills anymore.” Doc rests a hand on her shoulder, stops them both in the middle of the hallway, and has her look at him, really look at him as he speaks. She looks like she’s considering hitting him, but he’s glad she’s at least giving him a chance. “This is a band with a record deal; they’re going to be touring, and you’ve gotta learn to deal with responsibility if you’re going to stay on as their legitimate assistant,” he gives her shoulder a pointed shove, “and not as their glorified groupie.”

“I  _am_ shit hot,” Lola says after a moment, but her expression is still fiery, “and you don’t know  _fucking anything_ about me. If you tell me what to do,” she says slowly, as if explaining to a child, “I’ll deck you.”

“I’ll hit back, don’t you worry.” Doc says with a thin smile, “but it shouldn’t come to that. I’ll ask; simple as that.” He paused, there was something in his gaze that Lola couldn’t quite identify, “we both just want what’s best for the band, right? So let’s not argue; I’m trusting you as their main point of contact on a professional level, was that trust misplaced?” He asked, raising his eyebrows at her. Lola, meeting his gaze, squared her shoulders and straightened her posture.

“I don’t like you.” She said simply. Doc rolled his eyes.

“Grow up, no-one likes anyone in this industry.”

But there was an understanding forged between them in that moment. Doc turned on his heel and continued down the hall, and Lola followed. Neither really liked the other - Doc kept his opinions about Lola and her goings-on with the band to himself - but there was a mutual respect. Sort of.

After that, Lola took to kicking Doc in the shin as a form of greeting, and he would cuff her on the back of the head in return. She refused to buy her own professional clothing for a solid month, but after showing up to a meeting regarding the technical requirements for the band’s first stadium show wearing one of Tommy’s mesh shirts, Doc drove her to a department store afterwards and refused to leave until she owned a button-down or some sort of nice sweater.

“I don’t care if you show up in jeans, a skirt, hell, even those damn shorts that show your whole ass-” Doc stood with his arms crossed in front of the door to the department store, leveling a look at Lola who was actually sulking.

“You’re  _not_ my dad and you can’t force me to wear a monkey suit!” Lola was unashamed making a spectacle of herself outside of Macy’s. She’s still wearing the mesh shirt, and her hair is sprayed up to high heavens; all the nice, civil, normal people going past try and fail to hide their gawking.

“Is this really the hill you’re gonna die on? Not owning a nice shirt? You know you sound like a dumbass, right?” Doc tells her seriously, but she doesn’t seem to want to listen.

“It’s a matter of  _principle_.” Lola crossed her own arms, stamping her foot. “I haven’t worn a fancy-asshole-long-sleeved shirt since my mom’s trial,” she paused, voice going strangely vulnerable she adds, “they always feel like they’re choking me.”

It’s in this moment that Doc is painfully aware of how she was right in that he didn’t actually know anything about her, and he relents, sighing deeply.

“Just buy a sweater; doesn’t have to have buttons, doesn’t have to be high-necked, just- a sweater. To wear under your leather jackets.” He asks, voice far gentler than usual. Lola’s jaw clenches, her gaze flicks to name of the store signposted above the doors they were currently blocking.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because they threatened to call the cops on me if I stepped foot in there again.” Lola admits, and Doc resists the urge to tears the remainder of his hair out in frustration. He drives Lola back to the studio empty-handed, and the moment she steps into the studio she drapes herself over Tommy and Nikki who have taken up the sofa, both drinking and looking at one of Nikki’s falling-apart notebooks.

“Didn’t Doc take you to get like, better clothes or some shit?” Tommy asked, pinching at the mesh shirt by her ribs, Lola squirmed, but didn’t make a move to get up. She’s got her legs thrown over the edge of the little sofa, and is laying uncomfortably with her head in Tommy’s lap and most of her back over Nikki’s thighs, her ass coming to rest in the dip of the sofa between him and the arm of it.

“My clothes are great-” Lola started, but was quickly cut off by another pinch, and Nikki scoffing, “yeah, alright,  _our_ clothes are great,” she rolls her eyes, “but like, fucker wanted me in some long sleeved, corporate asshole shirt, and  _I’d_ rather die,” she scoffs, “but everyone gets all fuckin’ teary and forgiving the moment you mention you had a shit mom; like  _maybe_ I just don’t want to take fashion advice from a dickhead who wore a polo-shirt to a house party- don’t make me justify it with a sob story, like  _fuck_.” She spat, the anger in her words at odds with the way she’d begun to shuffle around, trying to get more comfortable. Nikki gives a hum of solidarity, petting her stomach gently.

“I feel like I don’t know anything about your family,” Tommy mused, playing with a few of her ear piercings with her head resting in his lap.

“Yeah, no shit,” is all Lola offers. It’s a very strange silence that sits in the studio after that.

“Where’s Doc now?” Mick finally piped up from where he’d been idly strumming by the sound desk. Lola groaned.

“I think he’s buying me a sweater.”

The mental image of Doc shopping for  _Lola_ in an actual department store was enough to have them all laughing; even Mick cracked a smile. Nikki shoved at her, smirking.

“Come on, we’ve got songs to write and you sound like you could use a top up,” that was enough encouragement for Lola to get up, following like an eager puppy as Nikki made his way to a backpack by the door, pulling a bag of coke from it. Like most of their recording sessions, it’s a blur, all that’s different is that today Lola seemed to have missed the groupies that Zutaut had diligently brought in, like he seemed to do every other day at the band’s request.

Lola had to admit, the record contract came with a  _lot_ of perks.

Though much to Lola’s amusement, the only moment it turns on her is the two days Vince spent sulking - though he’d hit anyone who accused him of it - after a groupie made a comment about how Lola gives better head than him. It hit a nerve, surprised them all when he’d gotten pissy and locked himself in his and Tommy’s room. The groupie hadn’t meant it maliciously, obviously, it was just a passing comment, but it hit harder than any of the others had realised.

“Vince-  _Nikki stop laughing_  - come on, all of Tommy’s shit’s in there; Vince-” Lola’s leaning against the door, and manages to catch herself as the door swings open. Vince doesn’t even look at her, his gaze hovering over her shoulder, looking where Nikki is quietly snickering into his beer.

“Do you…” Vince frowned, looking back at Lola. She’s actually wearing the sweater Doc bought; it’s black cashmere with a v-neck, more expensive than any piece of clothing she’s ever acquired legally, and big enough that the sleeves almost swallow her hands. Doc didn’t seem to like that he’d overestimated her size, but to his surprise, Lola liked it enough that she refused to give it back. It makes her look soft, surprisingly.

“Do I what?”

Frown deepening, Vince huffs a sigh, shaking his head and trying to retreat into his bedroom again, but Lola stops the door before it can close.

“No, stop sulking, do I  _what_?”

“Do you have a favourite?” He asks bluntly, stepping away from the door, moving to pick up his pack of smokes from the bedside table. Lola, confused and a little obtuse, steps in after him, asking him what he means. “Don’t be an idiot-”

“Don’t call me an idiot-” she snapped back, but then it clicked; suddenly, almost painfully. Her voice goes uncharacteristically quiet. “No.”

The afternoon is quiet, but they’re talking quiet enough that Nikki can’t catch what they’re saying. Vince opens the window after lighting his cigarette, he hums, clearly unconvinced. With a deep sigh, Lola makes her way over to him, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her forehead to his shoulder blade.

“You’ve been with Nikki the longest,” Vince isn’t sure how she’ll respond, but Lola just sighs deeply, holding him a little tighter.

“And he’s very different from you; it’s apples to oranges.” She paused, lips against his shoulder as she murmurs, “weren’t you the one who said that not being jealous would help you live longer?”

“I’m not jealous, I’m just…” he can’t quite put it into words, and he groans, frustrated for a moment at his sudden vulnerability. Not quite silence fills the room; the gentle sizzle of the cigarette, Nikki’s quiet chatter from the other room, Vince groaning out a lung full of smoke as Lola’s hands find their way beneath his shirt, playing with the waistband of his obscenely tight pants.

“I’d be a pretty shitty girlfriend if I played favourites.”

 _Oh_.

“Girlfriend?” His tone is unreadable.

“’s not going to stop any of us fucking anyone we want,” she laughs a little, and Vince nods a little, “but it-” laughing a little self conscious, she was glad for a moment that he couldn’t see the slight blush she couldn’t stop from creeping up her cheeks, “it’s easier to explain, sounds better than just telling people we’re fucking, you know?” It’s deflection, a cop out where she can’t bring herself to voice the things that made her heart flutter. They don’t do much talking after that, but they both seem to understand the things she leaves unsaid.

She brings the conversation up later that night around terribly greasy food, getting ready to head down the Strip to see who’s playing.

“How many titles is that now? Assistant, roadie, security, groupie, girlfriend,” Nikki’s smirking, but there’s something genuinely fond in his gaze as he speaks, “you know we’re only paying you one salary right; you don’t get a raise for -”

“For sucking your dicks? If I got paid for that I could retire on the spot.” Lola tells him frankly, and Nikki laughs, but doesn’t say anything else on the subject. Tommy just grins, asks if this means anything changes between them; Lola, wearing a smirk, shrugs and rolls her eyes, and just tells him ’ _not really_ ’, and that’s said about it.

Nothing changes. Nothing really feels different. Nothing apart from Lola, it seems, who wears a pleased little smile for the rest of the night, even as Tommy jumps on her back and insists she carry him to the next club. And if they stick closer to her than usual, Vince with his arm around her waist at the bar, and Tommy leaning on her at any given moment, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into a side hug, or Nikki with his hand on her thigh when they’re both sitting at the bar, the two of them leaning into each other just a little. They all share little moments, though Vince picks up at the second bar they go to, and Tommy’s fucked off somewhere before they made it to the Starwood, but Nikki doesn’t seem inclined to leave Lola’s side once it’s just the two of them.

“We’ve been doing the same shit for years; what changed?” He asks when it’s well after midnight and they’re sitting on the curb of a parking lot, contemplating heading home, or to the next venue.

“You-” Lola snorts out a laugh, though it’s not her answer. Her world’s; it feels like she’s moving through honey. She leans against him, “dude you don’t want me to answer that.” Her head rests on his shoulder, and his hand finds her knee. “If you get freaked out and bail,” but she continues anyway, and Nikki goes  _very still_ , “I won’t be left like, by myself and shit, all high and dry.” She finishes with a hum, before catching her pun and laughing hard enough that she falls back onto the sidewalk.

“I told you I wouldn’t bail on you.”

“You bailed on Nadine,” Lola’s laugh is disappearing quickly, and Nikki frowns, “you remember her, I sort of do. I never got to say goodbye. She was good. She was a good one.” Lola sighs, and she looks at Nikki for a long moment, contemplative from her spot laying back on the sidewalk. She wants to reach out, part of her wants to hold his hand, hold him close, be sappy, but even in this state she knows it’s not the right moment. She’s barely conscious of the words that spill from her next, fears far too realised, far too honest, “dude, we spent the past few  _years_ ruining each others’ relationships, I just  _know_ karma’s gotta hit if we ever actually had the balls to try something like this.”

“You still think that?” Nikki asked, looking back at her. Lola licks her lips for a moment, can’t help but smile in her current state, and her eyes drift towards the stars.

“‘course, any minute now a meteor’s gonna wipe us out.” Her smile split into a grin as she turned back to him and saw him rolling his eyes and laughing quietly.

“Seems like a good way to go.” He offers his hand to her, and pulls her to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and using his free hand to lift her chin, her lips meeting his. He kisses her messily, all tongue and teeth and  _fuck the world_ intention, and Lola bites at his lip, her hand in his hair, nails dragging against his scalp. When they break apart, his lips are stained plum with her lipstick and he looks a little smug.

“The world didn’t end.”

Lola grins sharply, standing suddenly and offering her hand to Nikki. He stands, steps into her space when she pulls him close, and wraps his arms around her.

“ _Yet,_ ” she corrected with an amused smile, “so we should make use of what time we’ve got left.”


	17. four letter words to inspire fear (home/love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> motley’s first stadium show brings lola and tommy closer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drinking, anxiety/PTSD symptoms but nothing graphic

When they're first stadium show rolls around, Lola realises far too late that she can't watch it. During the tech run of the show she realises she can't be side of stage as the pyrotechnics go off, and she's close enough that she can feel the heat, and Doc's been double and triple checking the drum risers she'd set up, second guessing her, and maybe she wasn't quite expecting it, his tone, it comes from a place of concern but it feels so painfully and familiarly condescending, so she leaves to go drink and smoke and try to think about anything else because she can't deal with an anxiety attack  _now_ , on the  _biggest_ night of the band's career so far.

By the time they're finished, Lola's sitting by the tiny window in Tommy's dressing room, chain smoking cigarettes. Her knees are drawn up to her chest on a folding chair, and she's got a bottle of Jack in her other hand that she's already gone through a quarter of. There's a cool breeze coming through the window, but it's mostly hitting her back with the way she's positioned herself, the wind ruffling the hair at the back of her neck where she's pulled it into a ponytail. Her gaze is glassy. When the door bangs open and Tommy's the first through, she actually jumps.

"Dude, this is fucking awesome!! I can't believe we're playing a fucking stadium- what are you doing back here? Even without the crowd we kicked ass, you missed out on that exclusive front row, first glimpse of greatness," he's beaming, so earnest and enthusiastic it almost hurts, and all Lola can do is open and close her mouth, words refusing to come out as her cigarette burns dangerously close to her fingers and the filter. She's wearing a jacket he recognises as his own over her own denim one, which is a warning sign if he'd ever seen one; Lola's always been very vocal about how she hates wearing more than one jacket if it's not for a very specific look.

"You guys sounded great," Lola tells him through a thin-lipped smile. Instead of looking at him, she stubs out her cigarette on the windowsill and takes another swig from the bottle.

"No," Tommy stepped into the room, letting the door close behind himself, "no fucking way, something's up with you; was it the flames and sparkler things 'nd shit?" He asked, making his way over to her, frowning as she pulls out another cigarette and lights it up.

"Yeah, sure, it's the fire; it's always the fire," she gives that up easily, not necessarily lying, but not giving the full truth. She hands over the packet of cigarettes when Tommy asks for them. He leans against the wall, giving her a look like he's trying to figure her out; his nose crinkles just a little and he one arm over his chest to prop up the elbow of the cigarette hand. It's a cute look, but Lola's too in her own head to make mention of it.

Tommy knows her well enough to know that something else, something more serious, is bothering her, and isn't that a strange thought.

"I was just in my head about some of the setup, and the pyro shit was closer than I thought it was and-" Lola took in a deep, shaking breath, before squeezing her eyes shut tightly, "it's fine- I'm fine, I'm just gonna keep my distance." Holding her cigarette between her lips, she still can't meet his gaze, reaching beneath her two coats and shirt to scratch at her shoulder blade. 

Nikki and Vince are talking to the sound guys, and Mick is still practicing while he's got the stage to himself. Lola knows that it's only a matter of time before the rest of the band comes back, looking for her before they get ready for the actual show, or Zutaut'll need her for an errand, or Doc will, or all of the above , but she feels like she's frozen. Like if she sees Doc and he makes one more comment about making sure everything's secure, she's gonna scream. She's so painfully aware that she'd come to Tommy for a very specific reason.

Tommy, for his part, hasn't said anything, just took the bottle from her and had a long drink of his own. Lola takes a puff of her cigarette.

"Doc sounds like my mom sometimes." And she lets the statement hang in the air for a moment.

"Like he's mothering you, or -?" Tommy frowns, and Lola's jaw clenches.

"No, like he's possessed by the spirit of my batshit, controlling mom," she says in complete seriousness. After a beat, Lola can't help but smile wryly, "which is weird; never thought a middle aged Californian asshole could sound like my bitch of a Bostonian parental figure, but hey." How has it taken  _this fucking long_ to place her accent; it's not strong enough to be immediately recognisable, more than half a decade in LA would do that, but that's not what's important now.

Her hands shake. She can't meet his gaze, and her hands fucking shake. 

Lola's good at being independent, at finding comfort in Tommy that he hadn't even realised he could offer, curling into him when Nikki's setting himself on fire in the living room. He'd found her on the balcony once with her hands shaking like they were now, and she couldn't even light her cigarette, but it didn't matter. That time she'd talked a mile a minute, about everything and anything, and Tommy had lit her cigarette for her, zoning out a little as she rambled, but she hadn't seemed to mind. She kept herself focused on him, her free hand taking his, grounding herself in the present, in him. She hadn't told him why she'd needed him there, or even that she'd needed him at all, but somehow he could tell. He knew.

But there's a difference between Nikki setting himself on fire, and stuff to do with Lola's family. 

Her hands a shaking and she doesn't reach for him.

Strange as it is, it almost hurts, not knowing what to do, what to say, to see Lola so fragile and not knowing how to help. 

It's the most she's ever spoken about her family, apart from little tidbits she'd drop about her dad - his favourite food, how he always wore cargo shorts, how he had worked in a garage - but never about her mother. But he doesn't press her about it, instead, he swirls the bottle of Jack thoughtfully.

"Lols, can you gimme a hand with my makeup?" 

He steps away from the window, away from the folding chair she's holed herself up on, and offers his hand. For a long moment Lola just silently regards him, taking an almost painfully long drag on her cigarette. It's evaluative, almost judgemental, and Tommy wonders for a moment if she knows what he's doing, knows that he's at a loss. The light overhead is too bright and the sky through the window is watercolours of blue and lilac and for the barest moment Tommy thinks he's made a mistake, that she'd think less of him for taking her away from something so pretty and peaceful, but she takes his hand. He doesn't give pause as he feels the way the tremors still move her hand, even as gentle as it is, instead he pulls her to her feet. 

Though she's quiet, she moves diligently. She puts out her cigarette on the thick buckle of her belt, still wearing Tommy's jacket over her own as she rifles through the mess of bottles and brushes and tubes and pencils she'd brought along in a bag.

"You know you're gonna be ready way before the others," she tells him, gaze still flat as she compares two bottles of foundation. Tommy leans back in the makeup chair set up opposite one of the mirrors.

"Don't give a shit, now talk to me Lols, what are you looking for?" Tommy watches her with a half smile, watching as Lola paused, the tense set of her shoulders relaxing after a beat. Turning back to him, she held two bottles in hand.

"Foundation; you're paler than Nikki but darker than Mick, aren't you?" 

He keeps her talking, even though they both know he knows how to do his own makeup, and soon enough, she's stopped talking him through the process, and she's just started talking about the first thing to come to mind, her earlier anxiety having passed. Lola's halfway through applying Tommy's eyeshadow, sitting in his lap and rambling about how she's thinking of investing in red eyeliner, when the door opens and Vince and Nikki barrel in, voices loud, obnoxious, and excited, and they greet Lola and Tommy enthusiastically, looking for their own makeup to start getting ready in their respective dressing rooms.

"You're doing a fuckin' great job," Vince grins, perching his chin on Tommy's shoulder, and Lola leans out of the way obligingly as the boys, side by side, grin at each other in the mirror. Lola can't help but smile as Tommy planted a rough kiss on Vince's cheek, leaving a messy, red lipstick print. It's a moment of surprisingly playfulness and comfort, and both Tommy and Vince break out into laughter, and Vince reaches past Lola to grab the lipstick, before passing it to her.

"Come on, make it even," he insists, and Lola obligingly puts on a rushed coat of lipstick, and kisses his other cheek. 

Despite being in and out of the dressing rooms, wearing that smile like he knows he's got a groupie who's a sure thing, Vince leaves both marks right up until he  _moment_ he has to start applying his own makeup, and beside them Nikki's talking a mile a minute as he's sharpening one of the many eyeliner pencils they'd brought, so bright and excited about the night ahead. It's nervous excitement, not that he'd admit that, but they're all feeling a little bit like that. Mick is quiet when he comes in to collect his makeup, asking Lola quietly if she'll help with ' _the dark shit on his cheeks_ ' when she has a moment, and her smile softens as she agrees. 

And then they're alone again.

It seems like she's on autopilot as she works, barely registering what she's saying, and they're almost nose to nose as she applies his eyeliner and she starts talking about a woman named Nadine who Tommy recalls Nikki mentioning in passing. 

"Nadine's the one who taught me how to do eyeliner; Nikki looked like a raccoon when he went out back then, there was no way I was asking him," she paused, laughing a little, but Tommy quietly holds these little moments she shares with him close, "she gave me my first eyeliner pencil, actually, it was dark grey, not actually like  _black_ black, but it worked." It was quiet and surprisingly fond, and she's gently holding his cheek as the eyeliner pencil drags across his lash line. He tested his luck.

"So your mom wasn't a fan of makeup?" 

Lola gives pause, goes still and he feels her lean back, and when he opens his eyes, ready to apologise, he sees her sour expression, though she just seems thoughtful rather than anxious at the mention.

"She wore a full face every single fuckin' day but thought  _I'd_ look like a whore?" Lola snorted, rolling her eyes, "bitch, I was fourteen," she snapped, as if envisioning her mother before her, "some lipgloss wouldn't kill me; it was fucked, I looked like I was Amish all through high school." Her mouth closed as her gaze flicked back to Tommy, jaw tightening for a moment. There was a tense few seconds that passed, before Tommy brought his hands to rest on her hips, smiling carefully.

"Nikki's gotten better at eyeliner since you first met him though, right?"

"Christ, fuckin'  _obviously_."

She's still wearing his shade of red lipstick, and it looks good on her, especially the way it's smeared a little at the edges; it softens her look, and soon enough she's back in her rhythm of rambling. It's everything and nothing and she's grinning even as she reprimands Tommy for laughing while she's trying to apply facepaint to his cheek, both of them laughing at her chosen phrasing.

She reapplies his lipstick, and admonishes herself for applying it so early, citing that she was ' _just out of it_ ' but he shrugs, tells her he doesn't mind. 

"Done," she announces with a proud flourish, grinning broad and bright, and Tommy's answering smile is goofy and sweet. She moves to climb from his lap, but he holds her gently by the lapel of his leather jacket, and makes mention that she's warm.

"You've gotta get into costume," Lola reminds him, her hands finding his, her smile just edging on exasperated, but Tommy grins.

"I've got time."

Lola relaxes against him, his hands finding their way beneath her various layers, fingers trailing up and down the scarred skin along her spine. The faintest shiver runs through her, and he can hear her breath catch for a moment. But then there's a sigh, gentle and content, and she tucks against him, her face pressed into the crook of his neck.

"Hey could you- I mean, I was just thinking-" Tommy began, "like would it be better if you stood up the back, like in line with me, and the drums and shit? You miss half of Vince's strutting probably, but I'm pretty far back from the main pyro shit; there's a few with me on the risers but it wouldn't be anywhere near you." A silence stretches between them; he's still rubbing her back, half expecting her to say no, to tell him that she can't deal with any of it-

"I love you." 

It's quiet, an exhale, like a sigh of relief. Her grip on him gets a little tighter, and he wonders for a moment if she even realises what she's said, because fuck if he hasn't been feeling it for months, but he was quick to trust, quick to love, open in ways that Lola sometimes seemed incapable of. Suddenly having the rest of the band in the room feels like too much. But then Lola's shifting away, out of his arms and to her feet, smiling.

"Sounds good;" her voice is cheery as she actually responds to his suggestion, but there's something in her eyes that Tommy can't quite identify, "let me just check in with Doc and Zutaut, but that should work out great." Tommy's nodding, but he's lost for words.

She breezes in and out of the dressing room for the time remaining until they perform. The moment she steps foot outside, she can hear Vince's voice from around the corner where he's very obviously flirting with someone.

"Vince, you've got forty-five minutes for hair, makeup, and costume," Lola peers around corner and sees a very pretty brunette in a leopard skin bikini standing close to the singer, twirling her hair. She raises an eyebrow at Lola, as if challenging her to say something, but Vince was just grinning.

"Yeah, yeah, it'll get done Lo, don't stress," Vince assured, and Lola gave an amused smile.

"If your friend wants to help, she's more than welcome to," Lola gave a conspiratorial smile to the woman, who's eyes lit up.

"Like properly backstage? Like the dressing room?" She enthused to Vince, who had to bite back a laugh as he lead the woman into the dressing room next to the one Lola had just left. She remembers to stop in to Mick's dressing room. He's already halfway through a bottle of vodka, but sits patiently as she applies dark, sharp contour to his cheeks.

"You alright, girlie? You left the rehearsal pretty early," Mick notes, and Lola hesitates for a moment before she actually smiles, not feeling the need to act tough.

"Listen, Doc was being a dick about tech stuff," she paused, "and I'll admit, the flames aren't exactly my favourite, but I'm okay."

"You got one of your boys to help you through it?" He asks, no malice behind his words. Lola can't help the strange little smile that twists her lips, liking the way he'd called them ' _your boys_ '. She admitted that they had, without going into details, and Mick gives a small smile of his own, much to her surprise. "Good."

Mick's far less judgemental of their arrangement than she'd thought he'd be. When she'd mentioned it, though it should be noted that they were both reasonably drunk at the time, Mick just told her that everyone seemed happy, and if the band was happy, he didn't give a shit. 

And tonight?  _Happy_ didn't even begin to cover it. 

Nikki, dressed in his full BDSM-esque stage gear, his hair sprayed up and makeup almost fully done, called Lola into his dressing room, practically vibrating with nervous energy.

"You look ready to fuck shit up, Niks," Lola beamed at him, and Nikki hummed in agreement, making his way to the mirror, and his own stash of makeup. He looks for a moment, and Lola can hear the clatter of the plastic packaging, before he turns back.

"Tommy and I wear the same shade of lipstick, right?" It takes a moment after he says it for Lola to nod, but then he's making his way over to her, bending down in his platforms to kiss her. 

"You're  _nervous_!" Lola gasps as she steps back, eyes alight, and Nikki's expression goes  _murderous_ , not that she cared, picking her way to the sofa in the middle of the room as he begins fuming.

"Don't you fucking get it? I found you practically on the  _streets_ of  _fucking Boston_ , and now we're in a stadium in  _L-fucking-A,_ do you not get how far we've-"

"Stop being so dramatic, of course I get it," waving him over, he realises the reason she'd climbed up to stand on the sofa was so that she'd be at eye level with him with the added height of his boots, for which he's quietly grateful, "though I'll always have a soft spot for that gutter punk; he got me into my first bar, you know?" She teased, smirking. 

Nikki doesn't have a rebuttal, which is the biggest clue that he's in his head about the upcoming performance, but Lola rests her forehead against his. For just a moment it feels like a moment they'd shared years ago, back in  _Sister_ or  _London_ , but there's a new security there, a comfort and familiarity they hadn't allowed themselves for so long, and Lola kisses gentle, affectionate, full of warmth and unfiltered kindness. That's still rather new to their dynamic, and Nikki's kissing her back like he never wants this moment to end.

But it has to.

She's with the band when Zutaut gives his short and uninspiring speech, and she hugs them each in turn, and rolls her eyes and smirks as Vince joins them. The pep talk that Nikki gives the band isn't her place, and so she follows Doc to side of stage.

The band,  _her boys,_ Mick included, are  _sensational_. Pride wells within her, and it's all she can do to dance and whoop side of stage to show it off. With the crowd practically salivating for them, the band has a new intensity, electricity, and Vince has them all in the palm of his hand the way he's working the stage. 

The crowd roars with feverish applause when they crash to an end at the end of the concert, and Lola's sweaty and out of breath from dancing, but she feels like she's grabbed a live wire, ecstatic and enthusiastic in equal measure. The whole band crowds her into a hug once they're done celebrating amongst themselves, and she hugs them each in turn, lifting each and every one of them off the ground, even Mick, who grumbles about his bones, but gently hugs her back once she puts him back. 

And they're all quick to change out of their costumes, throwing over their shoulders that if Zutaut sees any groupies, that they're allowed -  _encouraged_ \- to come backstage. Lola laughs, trailing after the boys, pausing as they head into their individual dressing rooms, but she can feel butterflies coming to life in her stomach as she lets herself into Tommy's.

He's struggling with part of his harness, and his whole expression lights up when he sees her, asks her help. Of course Lola obliges without question, nimble finger working on the buckle of the belt part of the harness; it didn't take long, and soon he was in just his stiff shirt, and red leather pants. His shoes were flat; heels weren't exactly conductive to drumming, and it's not like he needed the height. That being said, the moment Lola straightened up, she took a step back, surprised at the look in his eyes that she recognised. The butterflies were growing stronger.

"Hey so I- I said something, uh, earlier, and-" she paused, for a moment, before she met his gaze. He looked so fond, a little amused by her stuttering, as if he knew where this was going, but she was done playing safe. With Nikki she would spend forever dancing around admitting anything because it's all they knew, but the moment she told Tommy she wanted him, like really wanted him, he'd told her he loved her. He was so quick to love, even if it was puppy love at first, something fickle and short lived, it had lasted, evolved beyond that. 

Steeling her resolve, she forced herself to stop fidgeting, stop stuttering. He could see it on her face, the change in her, the determination; his smile widened.

"Fuck, I love you, Lols." He laughed, and Lola's eyebrows shot up, her determination breaking as she swatted at his arm.

"That's my line!" 

"I think you mean ' _I love you too_ '," he snickered, reaching behind himself to untie the back of his stiff, shiny shirt-thing. Lola hummed, eyes narrowing, though her smile betrayed her. Her heart had softened, the moment had been easier than she'd thoughts and the words came easily to her.

"I do, you know? I love you too."

 


	18. committing crimes to feel something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> on tour!! lola meets ozzy, causes havoc at an interview, listens to advice from ozzy, is subsequently disgusted, and has a bit of horseplay in the pool with her favourite boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: drinking, petty theft, NSFW towards the very end.

They're opening for Ozzy Osbourne. It's their first tour and they're opening for Ozzy- _fucking_ -Osbourne! Mick isn't exactly thrilled, but the rest of them are.

" _Oh my god_ ," the first time Lola sees him, she's by Doc's side as he introduces the Motley Crue to the man himself and his backup band. She's wide-eyed, and the words slip out with her even meaning them to, flustered and a little starry-eyed. Catching herself a little too late, she ignores Motley Crue's faint amusement, and slips into her cool, professional facade as Doc makes his introductions. The bands shake hands, and then he introduces Lola as Motley's assistant; Ozzy himself makes an indecipherable noise in the back of his throat, which actually makes Mick laugh in a way she's never quite heard before, and she knows that in that moment, every single person in that room is aware of the true nature of her relationship with the band, simply by virtue of being in the industry for so long. She refuses to feel ashamed, and meets each and every band members' gaze as she shakes their hands in turn.

Being on tour means hotels, hours spent by the pool, interviews in every new city, and trying to wrangling them into a decent state in the morning when every nights a party. They're the kings of debauchery, debasing themselves and the women they're with at every given opportunity, much to Doc's chagrin, and as much as Lola's a great help at wrangling the band, she could also be just as bad as them. 

Interviews were, without fail, the worst.

Lola's wearing a blazer that's definitely actually Doc's, and she's waiting to see how long it is until he realises, and holding a clipboard she snatched from a harried person wearing a headset who didn't even seem to notice. She's scouring the room for a pair of glasses she can filch when she feels an arm wrap around her.

"Have you seen glasses anywhere?" Lola asks; without even having to look she knows it's one of her boys. Judging by the way he gives her hip a squeeze, it's Vince.

"Glasses?" He's looking over her shoulder at the clipboard, scoffing when he reads the words 'Shout  _With_  The Devil'.

These interviews are all the same, and just like always she'll leave with a handful of souvenirs she's not meant to, doing a run for booze and smokes while the boys see fit to entertain themselves, at least one of them taking a shot at the interviewer, provided they were female. They hear the derisive 'Shout  _With_  The Devil' and accusations of satanism come from a woman's puritan lips and they take it like a challenge; Nikki because he likes to corrupt and Tommy because he'll fuck anything that moves and he likes girls who are mean, though Vince knows there's fans waiting and doesn't bother throwing his hat in  _this_ particular ring. And Lola remains an afterthought; she's not new and exciting the way a myriad of fans are. It's not that she's not  _secure_ , she's not going to be left in whatever town they're in, but she feels more and more like she's becoming an afterthought. 

"Glasses," she confirms with a slight grin, wiggling her eyebrows at him as she tries to push her doubts to the side, "so I look a serious, professional assistant-"

"So they won't question you if you start putting random shit in your pockets from around the studio." He's smiling like he knows her well, and yeah, okay, maybe he does. Lola's grin widens.

"A little petty theft never killed anyone," and she knows the tone to take to make him smile, to make him choose her over any other girl in the moment. Vince's heart beats a melody she knows all the words to, and sometimes it's good to know she's still in key.

He rolls his eyes and kisses her, and she calls him a hypocrite and kisses him back, and someone else -  _a man with a clipboard_ and  _a headset_ \- asks her who she is, how she got in. Vince doesn't let her go, though when she turns, Lola's smile is the same one she wore back on The Strip when bands who didn't really know her questioned her roadie-ing capabilities; mean and humourless. When she tells him she's their assistant, he scoffs, looks her over, and Doc's jacket does little to hide the cropped tour shirt she'd worn, or the black leather pants she'd squeezed into, looking less like a professional and more like a groupie.

"Excuse you, asshole, this is Lola  _fucking_ Gone," Vince actually raises his voice, and something about how sure his voice is hits her in a way she didn't expect, nor did the way it would call over the rest of the band.

"Is something the matter?" Nikki and Tommy are both forces to be reckoned with, made up for the interview and never ones to play safe, but it's Mick's gruff tone, more of a demand than a real question, that greets the now overwhelmed man with the clipboard. He stumbles over his words before he can form a real sentence. Nikki's directly behind Lola, close enough that she could lean into him if she so chose, and Tommy's got an arm around her shoulders, and maybe they're going overboard, but they also didn't have context for Vince's outrage.

"I just- this  _is_ your band's assistant, right?" The man asks, looking nervously amongst the five of them.

"Yeah, that's what she fucking said," Vince spits.

"What did  _you_ think she was?" Nikki asks, dangerously calm. The man with the clipboard denies thinking anything else, and makes to leave.

"Hey, I could really use a headset," Lola calls, voice suddenly sweet, "Doc's the manager but I can relay any info to him through the comms," she explains. The man swallows, nodding quickly, but Lola's not done, "and my glasses? Horn rimmed, a little bulky, maybe someone picked them up?" She clutches the clipboard to her chest as he's now nodding emphatically. Tommy mutters that she doesn't wear glasses and she tries to be discrete when she elbows him, but her smile's as bright and sweet as she can make it, and the other man has scurried away.

"That might have been overkill," Lola smirks, but she sounds pleased more than anything, "he almost shit himself."

She looks back at them, talks with them, takes comfort in the gentle touches she knows other girls don't get. Not an afterthought-  _never_ an afterthought, is what they say with the way they drape themselves over her, pinch her, hold her close; they don't know they're saying it, but she hears it anyways, the way they stood with her without hesitation, even over something so small. Perhaps they tell themselves that it's just an excuse to cut sick in the interview and on the studio, that slighting Lola like that, the establishment had lost the hair of respect the boys had been trying to hold for it.

As if they needed an excuse to cut sick.

She leaves with pockets full of stolen pens, a headset that belongs to the studio, and two different pairs of horn-rimmed glasses. And the cash from two different wallets -  _who just leaves their purse in the back of a cupboard in the break room? It's like they don't even know who they're dealing with_. 

That night they have a gig, but the next day they finally have a break, and the hotel has a pool, and once Doc is done yelling at her because one of the pens exploded with red ink in the pocket of the jacket she'd stolen from him, making it look like she'd been shot and staining the jacket something fierce, she's poolside. She's wearing one of Tommy's shirts, one with the sleeves cut off, over her swimmers, craving some coke or some privacy so she could actually have a swim without feeling like a spectacle with her back on display, but it seems she's getting neither.

What she does get is an iced margarita and her boyfriends bragging to each other about how many girls they've fucked, not that she minds, she's lost count of the amount of people she's been with on tour herself, guys and girls alike. But then Mick has to open his mouth and say -

"Don't you guys think that the slobs who fuck you guys probably fuck every other band that comes through town?" A silence follows his words as the band members consider, before they're all laughing, and Tommy's delighted by the concept of being ' _pussy brothers with the whole scene_ ' while Mick makes a face like he just bit into a lemon. He turns to Lola, "no offense, of course." She throws her drink at him. He's wiping iced margarita from his face when he claims, "I happen to have respect for myself, and the females of our species, unlike you animals," to the rest of the band. Lola throws her margarita glass at his face too; it glances off his forehead and shatters on the ground beside him. When he gives her an exasperated look, she flips him off, and the rest of the band are still laughing.

"Don't talk about Lola like that," Nikki's all but cackling, "she's a one-band slob."

"Not by choice," Lola corrects him, with a smirk, and though he acts wounded, he's clearly still amused. Lola's mood is a good bit sourer than the others, but Ozzy manages to steal the focus the minute he bursts onto the scene in a yellow sundress. 

He's waving his ass and cash in the faces of strangers, calling that drinks were on him, as he makes his way over to the band. Noticing the shattered glass, he gasps.

"Looks like someone needs a refill," he proclaims. Lola stays quiet, but lets herself laugh as the boys all clamour for a refill, and instead get the sight of Ozzy's dick burned into their memory as he lifts the sundress and flashes them all. A chorus of groans arises from the boys, but they seem to all find it funny, rather than unseemly, Lola included. Ozzy stumbles past them to the life guards tower, and Nikki shakes his head, still grinning.

"I've gotta hand it to ya, Oz," he leans heavily on the side of the lounge chair he's laid out on, still dressed mostly dressed, unlike Tommy and Vince who had favoured their swimmers, "after all these years, and you're still keeping up with us kids."

"Keepin' up with 'em?" Ozzy scoffs, "I've fuckin' lapped ya, mate." After a moment he gestures them all over, "now come over 'ere and have a chat with your Uncle Oz," he insists; the boys on the lounge chairs are quick to heed his words, though Mick to slow to rise. Lola stays seated, but Oz points sternly at her, "you, with the tits, you too." And Lola stands with a slight smile and joins the others.

"Now, this is your first real tour, right?" Oz asks, looking at all of them from on high in the lifeguard chair, "I want you to be careful; have fun, but know when to say when. Because a life full of booze, drugs, and unprotected sex is only gonna  _fuck you up_ , man." They're not taking him seriously, Lola's rubbing at her nose to hide her smile where she's shoulder to shoulder Tommy, but none of the others are trying to be discrete or heed his warning, "'I mean, you take it too far, and you'll go  _fucking mad_ ," he's serious, eyes wide enough that the whites of his eyes were visible all around his irises, but the boys didn't seem to care. 

Ozzy made his way ungracefully from the chair, almost stumbling, though Lola surges forward to catch him and keep him upright. He pets her arm, frowns a moment, then pets it again.

"Solid." He mutters, mostly to himself, before pushing her away and reaching out to the others, "now gimme a straw, I fancy a bump." Lola actually groaned at how painfully relatable that was.

"Aw, we're all out of blow, dude," Tommy told him, which Vince confirmed, but Ozzy didn't seem deterred. 

"I said I want a bump." He demanded this time, hand reaching for Tommy's drink, "Straw please." His intensity was enough to get Tommy to shut up and comply, shaking the liquid from his straw as he handed it over.

Lola will probably never get the image of Ozzy snorting up ants out of her brain, nor the sound, the gravelly snorting, the way he didn't even flinch; no-one could out-crazy Ozzy. By the way he was posturing, Lola could tell he wasn't finished with whatever stunt he was trying to pull, and she took Vince's now vacated lounge seat to watch the show. 

'The show' turned out to be Ozzy pissing on the concrete, and licking it up, much to everyone's disgust, including everyone in and around the pool that was just trying to enjoy their afternoon. The pool was starting to clear out, but while Tommy was seemingly ready to pledge his life savings to the Church of the Prince of Darkness, Nikki took it as a challenge.

As soon as she hears the zip of his fly, Lola's yelling. Vince is sitting by her on the lounge, holding his drink and still laughing.

"Nikki, I swear to god, if you-" but he's already peeing on the pavement himself, looking far too proud, watching with a smirk as people are quickly leaving the pool area, horrified. When he's done, Nikki bends, fully intending on imitating Ozzy and licking up his own piss, to which Lola actually shrieks in disgust and presses her forehead to Vince's shoulder. Despite his attempt, however, Ozzy pushes Nikki out of the way and is already licking the piss covered pavement again when Lola looks back up.

"You're a horrible fucking feral and I cannot believe I was ever attracted to you!" Lola exclaims, still feeling a little ill from the whole display. Nikki, however, seems to be in a playful mood, feeling brash and ballsy and like he can take on the world, judging by how he walks behind Lola and wraps his arms around her, pulling her up and off the lounge while she squeals protests; they both know she could break his hold easily, but her mood's actually brightened considerably. "You filthy bastard! You were gonna lick your own piss! I'm never gonna fucking kiss you again-" and he throws her into the pool, which has been emptied of people. 

"You bastard!" She's absolutely beaming when she resurfaces, and she swims to the side of the pool, offering a hand as if to help her out, but Nikki doesn't take the bait, but Tommy's more than happy to be pulled in. 

It's a rare moment of  _fun_ , when they're not trying to cause a ruckus - which they are, but not on purpose - they're not trying to be shocking or wild or be a public disturbance; Mick sits back down in the shade, and Ozzy's content doing his own thing in his own little world, and when Lola yells that she's gonna throw Nikki in and he gets to decide if that's with or without pants and shoes, he's quick to strip himself of the leather and dive in of his own accord to join the other three in the water. With the pool area finally clear of people, Lola takes off her shirt, leaving her in her swimwear, and Tommy's quick to climb on her shoulders and announce a chicken fight. 

Tommy and Lola lose because Vince is surprisingly vicious and Nikki fights dirty and keeps spitting water at Lola, she eventually lets go of Tommy altogether, which makes him topple backwards, but it's worth it to tackle Nikki and knock Vince off his perch. Both Tommy and Vince surface with claims of cheating, but Nikki and Lola seem to be either playfighting or trying to drown each other.

Lola's somehow of the safer of the two options to try and drag away, and she kicks out her legs as they do, still splashing Nikki, who's blowing the water from his nose, though it's all in good humour. Mick leaves rather soon, and the hotel sends someone to clean up the piss, but they seem to have closed the pool otherwise. 

The four of them stay in the water for a while, until it's starting to grow dusky around them. Eventually Tommy goes to grab himself another drink, and Nikki's pantsed Vince one too many times underwater, and so Vince went to join the drummer in a bit of a huff, and in the end, all that was left was Lola and Nikki. She's pretty sure it's by design; she's sitting in the shallow end, at the stairs, and he's wading his way towards her.

"Your mermaid looks right at home," he notes, pointing at the tattoo on her upper arm, a pin-up style, topless mermaid, who was now angled to smile coyly at Nikki as Lola twists her arm to look at it.

"I should swim more often," Lola mused, herself smiling at Nikki, leaning back a little on the step she was sitting on as he sank to his knees in front of where she was sitting in the shallow water. He's so close now, leaning in like he wants to kiss her, but her smile turns sharp and she grabs his chin.

"You're gross, Niks, I told you I'm not kissing you," she snickered, and his eyes widened. He was unfortunately cute, with his hair all damp and clinging to his cheeks, just in a pair of boxers and wet from the pool.

"You sure about that?" He asks, one eyebrow rising as one of his hands slowly moves up her leg. Lola bites back a smile, avoiding his gaze as she turns pink. There's no-one around, but it still feels so  _public_.

"Never again," she mumbles, though her heart's not in it, there's a solid blush rising on her cheeks, "now I know you're willing to lick piss-"

"That was to impress Ozzy."

"Well I think it worked," Lola laughed a little; his fingers were brushing her inner thigh, back and forth, back and forth, teasing, "it was disgusting, Niks, and I can't have that near my mouth." 

"You've had way worse in your mouth." And Nikki pushes her bikini bottoms to the side. Lola flushes, tucks herself a little closer to the wall, hoping to hide herself a little from the balconies that looked down on the pool. 

Nikki seems content to watch her come undone around his fingers, needy and frantic and a little fearful of prying eyes. Biting her bottom lip, breath coming out in gasping, quiet pants. Maybe it's the setting, but he feels strangely voyeuristic, and Lola feels a little like she's performing for him, not used to him so quiet. Every minute movement, roll of her hips that shifts the water, the way she's got a white-knuckled grip on the string of her bikini, like she's looking to hold  _something, anything_ , the way her breath catches when she's close - it's all captivating. Her head falls back when she cums, breathing hard, arms now relaxed and floating by her side in the water, a laugh that’s warm and hearty tumbles from her lips.

"So never  _ever_ again?" Nikki snickers, his hands moving to her hips, and Lola doesn't answer with words, instead she sits, slides from her seat until she's practically in his lap, and wraps her arms around his neck, crushing her lips to his. It's a nice, albeit a little strange moment, which is broken by a very familiar cough.

"Are you guys done? Can you let us in? We brought more drinks." 


	19. 3 Gymnopédies: No. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lola and Vince have fun with a groupie, Lola gets too honest and regrets it; a fight, making up, it turns out Lola can play piano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: HIGH KEY SMUT AT THE BEGINNING, uhhh,,, Vince-centric chapter, drug use, implications of parental abuse

Lola's always a low-level high most of the time. There's a near-endless list of reasons, topped, of course, by addiction, but she felt on top of the world, so she didn't think she needed to worry about it. Despite the fact that it was mostly harmless, she kept away from weed more than any other, because it makes her lethargic, makes her open and strange and vulnerable in a way she doesn't like. But occasionally - _occasionally -_ a groupie will hand her a joint, or one of the boys will, because she will never roll herself a joint, and she'll accept with only mild hesitation.

Now, she's laying in a hotel room she can't remember getting to, there's a girl by her side, trailing lazy kisses down her stomach, and a knock at the door. She's wearing a pair of boxers that she's probably borrowed from Nikki, a roughly cropped singlet, and not much else, and the groupie's wearing a very cute lingerie set, but Lola feels like she knows who's at the door.

"It's open," her own voice sounds far away, and the door opens with a click. The girl pauses, resting her chin on Lola's hip, watching the door with mild curiosity. Lola takes a puff of the joint that she'd been holding it loose between her fingers, her smile all teeth as Vince enters the room. The groupie's smiling too, accepting offer of weed from Lola. 

"Miss me?" He smirks, settling onto the bed beside her, and Lola leans up, leans into his touch as he cups her cheek gently, kissing her. 

"Always," she murmurs softly. She can feel but can't really comprehend it when they touch her, the world, the room, a haze of curling smoke and lingering touches, before she feels it all too much, each sensation hits her tenfold and she arches up. As Lola moans, she reaches up, holds tight to the girls thighs where she's sitting on Lola's face. The girl giggles and gasps and let's go of the bedframe with one unsteady hand to card her hand through Lola's hair.

She can hear Vince laugh, but he goes gentle, slows down though his grip on her hips is still firm. Lola actually whines, taps on the girl's thigh, and the moment she move to let Lola speak, Lola begs him to not slow down.

"You sure about that?" His thumbs finds her clit and Lola whines, but grinds against him, insistent. He's got her at the edge of the bed, and it's takes her a moment, but her legs wind around him, pulling him closer as the girl resumes her spot.

And then the girl has her hands firing in Lola's hair, pulling at it, and Vince is digging his nails into her hips. Lola's back arches so sharply that the girl has to hold firm to keep her seat.

"Come on, honey, you doing so - _so_ \- well," the girl groans, and gives another tug on Lola's hair, and Lola, always one to respond to praise, bites gently at the woman's clit, before holding it between her teeth, flicking her tongue insistently over the bundle of nerves. Lola holds the woman insistently as she gets close, her thighs keeping Lola firmly in place. All Lola can do is hum encouragement and keep focused, even as Vince seems to be doing his very best to distract her.

The groupie comes with a cry, and climbs off of Lola as her legs are still shaking, sinking down onto the bed beside her. Lola, however, seems to slam back into her own reality, with Vince between her legs and her nerves on fire.

" _I want, I want, I want_ ," she whimpers, but can never seem to get further until she gently taps at the woman's hand, which is gently carding through her hair, and she makes a fiat sharply and quickly; it's an instruction and the woman catches on quickly. " _Yes_ , fuck, _God yes_ -" Lola's words spill from her lips. Vince lifts one of her legs lover his shoulder and she seems to be past the point of words, just gently and appreciatively stroking the woman's cheek with her hand that's not fisted in the sheets.

"Anything, babe, _anything_ anything." The woman presses a tender kiss to her palm, and a single rough word escapes Lola, who's mouth is hanging open, eyes wide, almost rolling back into her head.

" _Harder_."

In the afterglow, Lola melts into the bedspread, thoroughly satisfied, and the other woman takes a shower. Lola won't; in moments like this she actually enjoys being a little, for lack of a better word, sticky. Vince makes mention that he'll probably join her, but he likes Lola like this; she doesn't get like this often around him, warm and needy and _clingy_ , of all things. He knows that she could probably throw him through a window at any given moment, with his arm around her his fingers graze along her arm, can feel hard muscle just beneath the surface, her shoulders broad and the well defined muscles of her back, mostly hidden for the scar tissue still there. But she won't. She loves him.

Lola's fingers are tapping on his chest, a pattern he doesn't recognise, though she seems very focused on the task.

"I want to play piano again," and the words are so gentle as they leave her that she's not quite sure she'd spoken them aloud at all.

"You want to learn to play piano?" Vince asks, and she shivers as he drags his nails up her arm. Instinctively she curls in closer to him.

"I _know_ how to play piano," Lola clarifies more firmly this time, "The keyboard isn't the same." Her fingers still on his chest, as if she hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"You play piano?" Vince find himself focusing on instead.

"When no-one's looking," Lola pressed her cheeky smile to his chest, "what if dad comes home and I let myself get rusty?"

"You're not home, baby, we're on tour," Vince is confused now, having just been given a strange lot of information, but Lola just sighs gently.

"I miss playing piano."

When he thinks about it, he's pretty sure he should have picked up on it sooner. While she was very good at never getting caught playing the keyboard, she did seem to favour sitting on the stool behind it, and always seemed to be there whenever someone got back and found her at the apartment by herself.

She taps like Tommy sometimes, and the others joked about her picking up the habit, but looking back, the way her fingers flourished as if tapping keys, it made more sense than the reckless abandon that Tommy would air drum with.

Even sometimes she'd say something unexpected; the green room of a television studio had some classical music station playing, and Lola gave a start when Nikki had groaned and yelled for someone to turn off _'that pussy fuckin' Mozart shit_ '.

"It's Beethoven." She'd corrected automatically, before her mouth snapped shut into a thin line, well aware of the confused looks she was getting from everyone. Before anyone could comment, she was out the door, yelling, "someone turn off this classical garbage; this is Motley Crue, not a fuckin' ballet society!" And none of the band though much of it after that.

Here and now, Vince felt a swell of affection in his chest.

"We'll find you a piano, baby."

Lola's whole face scrunches up when she smiles this time, painfully genuine, and she tightens her grip on him. Vince doesn't plan on moving any time soon anyways. Lola sleeps soon after that, but Vince can't seem to even come close.

Lola's a heavy sleeper, which he's thankful of, both because the woman in the shower is not quiet when he joins her, and because once she's left, Vince makes more phone calls in the following hours than he has in most of the tour. Granted, most of those calls were arguing with the hotel's management about moving their grand piano from the ball room into his room.

Doc has the patience to wait a few hours before coming to visit Vince himself.

"Stop being a fucking pain, you entitled asshole." Is Doc's way of greeting Vince, when the blonde opens the door. Vince blinks a few times, looks over his shoulder at the bathroom where Lola was showering, and back to Doc. "Why do you even need a fucking grand piano in your room, last I checked, you were just the singer."

"Lola wants to play piano."

"Lola doesn't know _how_ to play piano."

"You don't know that."

"Well then rent out the fuckin' ballroom if you're so determined."

Vince does exactly that. Lola looks like she's going to hurl when he tells her. Pale as a ghost, she clutches her towel more tightly to her chest.

"I- no." She says, jaw tightening. She blinks a few times, as if to clear her vision. "Dude, I was talking shit, I was high, you didn't have to-"

"You're still high, you're always high, sorry I wanted to do something fucking nice," he snapped, rolling his eyes. Lola's lips pressed into a thin line.

"I don't play for other people." She told him flatly.

"That's selfish; what about your dad?"

Silence followed; she took a step back, shock written all over her face. Lola, hard-edged Lola, had tears welling in her eyes.

"You don't know shit about my fucking dad," there's a shake in her voice that Vince doesn't seem to pick up on through the defiance, "so keep his fucking name out of your mouth."

"I don't know his name, Lola! I don't know anything about your family, and I feel like I've been flying fucking blind regarding so much about you. I love you but you feel like a fucking ghost sometimes!" He couldn't help but snap, hands thrown in the air, voice so loud, so angry, so disappointed that what he'd hoped was a kind gesture had turned so sour. Lola was silent, and after a moment, all he could hear was his own heavy breathing, and finally he could see the tear tracks on Lola's cheeks.

"Stop yelling," she whispers, and immediately there's a surge of guilt that runs through Vince; he's suddenly too aware of how she's shaking like a leaf, how she couldn't look him in the eyes, "please stop yell-"

He steps forward, intent on apologizing, but she skitters back.

"I can't- I'm not- not... I'm _sick_ \- I think I'm sick- I can't play, I'm sorry, please don't be mad."

Gently, Vince exhaled the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"I wasn't demanding you do anything, or anything like that, baby; if you don't wanna play, you don't have to," sitting on the edge of the bed, Vince runs his hands through his hair, looking at anything but how Lola was shaking and fragile in the middle of the room. The situation was strange, was throwing him off, seeing Lola like this, it almost hurt.

"Whenever I would play when I was younger," Lola's breathing was shaky, and her hands, where they clutched the towel, still fidgeted, but she seemed less flighty after a moment, "mom... she was never happy with it. I was never any good." Her voice is quiet, hesitant. "But she insisted I keep playing, you know? Always told me I could be something great if I ever tried, if I stopped-" she was shaking again, hands clenched into fists, "stopped slacking off, stopped being lazy and whiny and-" her whole face wrinkled into something unpleasant as she cut herself off.

"She sounds like a bitch." That's at least enough to get Lola to laugh.

"She was, but she just wanted me to be my best for when dad got home." She nodded, her expression falling. "Vinny..." she was so nervous, so hesitant, and finally she stepped forwards, moving to sit by him, "my mom's in jail, and I don't know where my dad is."

" _Oh_."

"Yeah, _oh_."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Yeah, you shouldn't have." Lola's regaining some of her confidence, and she straightens her posture a little, "who I was before doesn't matter, and I fucking hate that the easiest way to justify things is with a sob story." She tell him, and Vince blinks a few times, surprised.

After a moment, Lola stands, starts scouring the room for a set of reasonably clean clothes.

"If - and that's a big fucking _if_ \- I play piano for you, you have to promise not to say anything, okay?" Lola shimmied into her leather pants, refusing to look at him, "Not to anyone else, not even the boys, and you have to especially be completely silent when I'm playing. I don't care if it's shit - which it will be - I don't play for people anymore so I gotta feel like I'm not playing for anyone, you hear me?"

Vince smiles, marvels a little at her.

"You know I love it when you get bossy," he muses, and Lola returns his smile, a little pink around the ears.

The ballroom feels hollow when they stop into it, Lola and Vince, and there's tables set up with silk bows, ready for some sort of event or function, and in the corner sits a band section; chairs, a few rickety music stands, and a grand piano.

Lola doesn't hesitate often, but here she did, stalling in the forefront as she gazes over at the piano in all its glory.

"This is-" she swallows hard, ducking her gaze, "thank you, you didn't have to do this."

"You make sure we have everything we want, I like to return the favor on occasion," he's wrapping her in a hug, and Lola sighs softly, contentedly.

"I'm sorry I got weird about it, thank you, Vinny, I love you," she muttered, and Vince laughed, patting her head.

"'s alright, baby, I love you too." After a moment, he stepped away, into the room, sitting himself on a chair, "I'll shut up now, like I promised," he grins, and Lola nods, makes her way to the piano.

The lid of the piano opens with a creak, and Lola gently runs her fingers over the keys, marvelling quietly.

"I'm still- I'm shit while sober so you'll have to forgive me now." Lola sits herself carefully on the stool, frowning intently at the keys. Vince is quiet, just watching. There's no sheet music, and Lola doesn't yet begin playing.

"When I first moved to LA, well maybe a few months after I first moved, I was seeing this guy," and she starts, her key strokes gentle, the song strangely familiar, "he worked in a music shop and was a lazy fuck, but it got me and Nikki discounts; leads and shit I could steal easy enough," she laughed a little. Everything felt dreamy and ethereal, backed by the lilting piano, "I once sat beneath the counter and sucked him off, and Nikki got an amp, like a Marshall amp, for dirt cheap. It was like highway robbery." She hummed along with the piano for a few bars, her eyes falling closed, though she kept playing this gentle song to contrast her story, "but they had this piano in store, beautiful, a baby grand, always in tune, and I'd pick one of the books of music they had for sale, and start playing like, something I knew from memory, and walk out with the book like I owned it. Poor guy was none the wiser."

"Do you still have them?" Vince finally speaks up, and Lola's hands still on the keys. He's worried for a moment, holding his breath, so concerned that messed up and that he'd broken the spell.

"In the closet, back home, under a bunch of nudie mags," she says softly. Vince manages not to laugh, but it's a struggle. "I got lessons for nine years, Vinny," she puts her hands back to the keys, frowning, "but I was never good enough." She frowns.

The next piece is fast, complicated, and Lola frowns at the keys the whole time she's playing, making sure she's hitting the right notes; Vince, again, doesn't recognize the song, but he knows enough about music to be impressed.

"Sorry," Lola mumbles as it comes to an end. She wrinkles her nose a little, and Vince takes the chance, stepping up and moving to her.

"That sounded fantastic, don't apologise," he admonished, and Lola's expression wrinkled.

"I sped up too much, I'm much better with a metronome."

He asks her what the piece is called. She tells him she can't remember.

"I can play other shit, fun shit," she smiled a little, "I know a little bit of Queen, some Beatles, some Elton, even. Mom hated it, but I started learning in LA."

"You play Queen?"

She seems less self conscious about playing modern stuff, perhaps because her mother never commented on it, never even knew about it, but Lola straightens up.

"I mean, only a few of the earlier ones," she pauses, "I know _Killer Queen_ , but-"

"Play whatever you want."

There's a moment of hesitation, and Vince rests his hand on top of Lola's head for a moment.

"Tommy's the only one who's heard me sing this one, okay? And that was an accident. So be kind," she looked at him out the corner of her eye, lips pursed.

"I'll be quiet as the grave," Vince laughed, but couldn't help but add, "you're full of surprises, aren't you?" Lola cleared her throat pointedly.

Her hands hover above the keys for a moment, before she begins;

" _I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things, we can do the tango just for two_ ," she croons, and something about the song choice, _Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy_ , and the sudden knowledge that, not only can Lola sing, but she can sing rather well, has Vince at a loss for words. It's a soft cover with only the piano for instrumentals, but Lola seems invested, seems to be enjoying herself. She dances a little as she plays, loses herself in the song.

" _Hey boy, where'd you get it from? Hey boy, where did you go?_ " She grins, as if singing to herself, playing with a flourish, _"I learnt my passion in the good old-fashioned school of lover boys!"_

As the song comes to a close she seems to come back to herself, flushed, smiling, and suddenly a little nervous.

"How dare you," Vince started, though he was smiling fondly, "keep all that fucking talent to yourself." Lola laughed, ducked her head, but Vince sat on the stool beside her, throwing his arm around her. "Seriously, Lo, you're hot shit."

"I know that," Lola snickers, and Vince gave her a shove. After a moment, her voice softened, "I appreciate it. It, um," she shifted a little, "it means a lot. But don't tell the others."

"Nikki doesn't know you play?"

"He knows I _did_ ; doesn't know I still do." Reaching out, she idly begins playing another classical piece, and Vince hums thoughtfully.

It had been strange for one of their rare nights off, nothing if not a rollercoaster. Maybe later he'll go and get them some drinks, maybe Doc or one of the others will come looking for them, but Lola seems genuinely happy at the piano, and Vince covets this little piece of herself she's shared with him.


	20. i've seen america with no clothes on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tour is coming to an end. Lola and Tommy cause trouble, Mick finds out why Lola reacts the way she does to fire, and everyone decides it’s for the best if they move out of their shitty apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW-ish. Mentions of parental abuse (physical and psychological), drinking, drugs, and PTSD triggered by fire.

Lola’s got her savings in a set of ziplocked bags, in a dufflebag, also stuffed with underwear and socks, that she keeps at the bottom of her suitcase. Thousands in cash that the others still don’t seem to be aware of. And she still doesn’t know what to do with it. The others have no such trouble; Vince buys the fastest car he can get his hands on, a cute little red thing with an uncomfortably small back seat, and all four of band members are looking at moving out of their shitty, shared apartment once the tour ends. They spend more on drugs and booze and girls than Lola’s collectively ever had in her life, and she revels in being a part of it.

She can’t remember half the shit she gets up to with the boys, just flashes;

_“I’m bored.” / “Where’s my bass?” / “Dude, someone called the fucking cops!” / “Come help me throw this TV out the window!” / “You’re on my hair!” / “That’s so cool! Write that down, it could be a song!”_

And maybe, just maybe, she considers Ozzy might be right, that the drinking and drugs might be fucking her up; in the moments between waking and sleeping, in the mid-morning light with blurry eyes she thinks there’s people watching her. She can ignore it, she can ignore it all her life if she has to, people have always been watching over her. Maybe if she opens her eyes again, it’ll be Doc, here to pull her to her feet, into the next day, or it’ll be whoever she was with the night before, trying to move around the room without disturbing her. Maybe it’ll just be nothing. A figment of her imagination.

But if she closes her eyes and goes back to sleep, she doesn’t have to worry either way.

Sometimes she misses their grubby, gutter punk roots, but she’s content enough replacing one brand of reckless hedonism for another, and she’s never at a loss for a good fight. The band fought each other when things got boring and the drugs were running low, or they fought with Doc when they were feeling particularly rebellious. Mostly they fought with people in bars, or clubs, or people who looked at them funny, and Lola was right there beside them.

They had their fair share of assholes who consider the band to be a bunch of posers, and more than a few times during the tour, Lola found herself more than a little bruised. Once she disappeared for a whole night, and came back the next morning with a broken nose and a shit eating grin.

“You should see the other guy.”

To Doc, more often than not it was like herding cats, and for all the good Lola did for the band, she was also right alongside them when Nikki was smashing lights in the upscale hotel they were staying in, all but cackling with laughter as Tommy sprints down the halls, terrorizing the other guests in his underwear.

“Lola! Lo-” Vince and Nikki had swerved into Doc’s room, and tried calling her over to take refuge. Lola, wearing only her spiked, black bra and leather pants, grins, shaking her head and breathing hard. There comes another crash from the hall behind them.

“What did you idiots do now?” Doc groaned, as Lola took off down the hall, bottle of jack in hand, baggie of cocaine tucked haphazardly into her bra. The manager took off down the hall as Tommy came into view, tailed by two police officers.

Lola leads Tommy into a dingy stairwell, where the cops don’t seem to follow. Later they’ll find out that Mick had taken the fall since he managed to fit Tommy’s description -  _pale as all fuck with long black hair_ \- and was none too happy about it, but for now, they don’t worry about it. The stairwell leads to the roof and they get fucked up and fuck under the stars until Doc finally finds them with Nikki and Vince in tow.

“Jesus, put some fucking clothes on - the other guests are complaining about the noise you were making,” Doc’s whole face is wrinkled in discomfort, while Nikki and Vince are practically falling all over themselves with laughter. Lola’s stretched out, stark naked, looking like she’s taking a nap, while Tommy’s pissing off the side of the building.

“It’s  _European_ ,” Lola replied breezily.

“It’s  _night_ , you’re not sunbathing, put on your fucking pants,” Doc snapped in response, before his voice softened ever so slightly, “should you see a doctor?” He’s seen Lola naked more times than he can count, but he always tries to avert his gaze, but here, under the moonlight, the bruises that litter her body stand out in the places that aren’t tattooed.

“I’m alright, dude, it’s fine,” Lola snorted. She stood, stretched, comfortable in her own skin. She moved towards the pile of clothes by the door. “These two are from Tommy,” she pointed to the ones on her collar, before identifying the rest, “I can’t remember which are Nikki and which are from that bar fight in Cleveland,” she shrugged, pulling on her underwear, “cards on the table, I don’t remember getting the ones on my legs, but I think it was when I ran into the drum riser during setup yesterday-”

“But you don’t know?” Doc asks, eyes wide.

“I was drunk! Sue me!”

“I could.”

“But you won’t,” she grinned, before picking up her pants, though she paused with a Cheshire cat smile, “and these ones are probably Nikki or Vince,” she kicked up a leg, drawing attention to the hickeys on her thighs. Doc looked like he’d rather be anywhere else right now; Lola felt absolutely no sympathy for him, he asked after all.

“I know it’s idiotic of me to ask,” the manager asked, as Lola pulled on her pants, “but can you try and keep these assholes in line for the night? I’d recommend somewhere childproofed, but I’m gonna set the bar low and  _beg_ that nothing gets set on fire.” Casting his gaze to where Nikki and Vince had joined Tommy, starting a literal pissing contest off the building, it felt as if he was fighting a losing battle.

“Listen, you know I’m not good with fire, so I’ll try my best,” Lola nods as sincerely as she can manage, “but no promises.” And with that, she went to collect her boys.

“And Lola?” Doc called out after her, and the dark haired girl turned with a chipper smile.

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget your bra.”

And with that, Doc headed off to do something about the headache that had come on very suddenly.

The only thing Doc can count on with Lola is that she’ll do everything in her power to keep fires from being set. That was a precedent that had been set when she’d accompanied the boys when they’d set of a bottle rocket in a sleeping Mick’s room, catching the curtains on fire. She’d watches with wide-eyed horror as the flames licked up the walls, and though the rest of the boys had left in a flurry of laughter, she’d been frozen, terror written all over her face. Mick had to pull her out of the doorway and down the hall as the fire alarms had been going off.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!” Was the first thing she’d shouted once she’d been able to move again, trembling like a leaf. “Fuck you! Fuck off!” And Mick, who still had adrenaline pumping through his veins from waking up to his room on fire, doesn’t know what to do as the woman is shedding her jacket and shirt quicker than he thought possible.

“Girlie, it’s me, it’s okay, we need to head outside-”

“Get away from me! Don’t touch me!” And it’s like she’s not even seeing him, pulling the switchblade from her boot and holding it out with shaking hands. She doesn’t even sound like her, voice angry and desperate and so  _painfully young_. They can both still hear the fire raging in the other room, and people barrel past holding fire extinguishers.

“Lola!” It’s Doc, voice firm, but the way he says her name has the skittish Lola reacting badly. He dodges where she throws her knife at him.

“Fuck you! I’m  _not_ staying here!” She hissed, voice flighty and panicked, before bolting.

Mick finds her sitting in the shallow end of the pool, arms crossed, still wearing her jeans and boots.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Mick asks, pulling over a chair and sitting by the edge of the pool, making no move to get her out.

“No. Fuck off.” But it’s her, it’s all her, Lola who fights and fucks and  _not_ the Lola who panics and runs from fire. “Did I throw a knife at Doc?” Mick hums in confirmation. “Why the fuck do you even put up with me?” She snorts, smirking, though it’s humorless.

“Don’t have a choice,” Mick answers bluntly, and Lola appreciates his honesty, but it stings a little. Mick sighs for a moment before conceding, “and I do actually like you, girlie, Doc may not see it, but you do those boys a world of good.”

“They’re gonna be the death of me.” Lola sighed, sinking a little further into the water.

“Probably.”

A long silence stretches between them, and eventually Mick clears his throat, trying again.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks. Lola’s quiet, but it’s not hostile this time.

“Do you really wanna hear about it?” She asks. Mick is quiet when he tells her that anything that he’d like to know what had fucked her up enough to throw a knife at their manager, and she can’t help but laugh at that.

“When I was seven, my dad left without telling anyone, left mom to clean up the paperwork for his restaurant, for his whole fucking life with us, and she never forgave me.” At this she gives pause, and as Mick processes what she’s saying, his expression turns uncharacteristically shocked, “She always said it was my fault, you know? I was kind of a shitty kid, sort of lazy, a shit piano player, even though she spent so much money on lessons. I never blamed dad, I just… I knew I needed to be better; there was always this thought of ’ _if I was a better kid, he’d come back_ ’. That’s what mom used to say.”

“That’s  _fucked_ , Lola, a seven-year-old isn’t responsible for a parent leaving; all kids are a bit shitty and lazy and-”

“Yeah well, mom kept this sort of shrine for him, like candles and shit that she always kept lit, photos and stuff, to show him we didn’t forget about him if he ever came back,” Lola sniffles a little, rubbing angrily at her eyes, “and it took me years to realise that the only reason he never came back was probably because of me, I was a shitty kid, then a shitty teenager, and I kept sneaking out and mom hated that, and she was really strict, but it’s only because she wanted me to be my best, but- fuck, _I don’t know._  I know she’s crazy. Looking back I can see she was controlling as shit, but at the time it- it made sense. She just thought she was doing what was best. And I was never good enough. So I tried to leave, make it easier for everyone.” She’s crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks as she speaks, “but I was my mother’s biggest mistake, and she couldn’t let me go. I didn’t mean to knock the candles, she shoved me into the shrine, and my backpack- I didn’t mean to.”

“Lola…”

“And she held me there, yelling ’ _How could you? How could you try and run like he did? How dare you ruin his memory like this?’”_  Her accent was thick, as she relived the moment and her mother’s anger. The moment broke, and she sobbed, burying her face in her hands, “I was  _on fire_ , Mick, I was burning and she- she-”

Mick, despite his age and the pain that sits heavy in his bones, climbs fully-dressed into the pool beside Lola, wrapping her up in a hug. He’s never been good at feelings, never been good at comfort, had always been adamant that people should work through their own shit in their own time, but somehow Lola had started to make more sense from this one story alone; her aversion to fire, her irritation when Doc gave her orders. Sometimes he’d questioned her work ethic, why she’d work so hard for so little recognition, but from the sounds of it, she’d really taken her mother’s words to heart, and despite everything she’d gone through, she still loved her father and wanted to make him proud. The guitarist’s heart ached for her, just a little.

“I’m sorry,” Lola’s voice is quiet.

“Don’t apologise, girlie,” Mick said, his voice gruff but soft, rubbing her back gently. She rested her head on his shoulder, still sniffling, letting herself find peace in the moment. Mick wonders if he should get one of the others, probably Nikki since he’d known her the longest, though all of them knew Lola’s aversion to fire, yet they’d still had her tag along. It didn’t take him long to realise that none of them knew  _why_ she was so adverse to fire.

From then, whenever Lola was in charge, no fires were to be set; because Lola would freak out, Mick would knock out whoever’s fault it was on her behalf, and Doc didn’t enjoy having knives thrown at him in general. That being said, Mick gave him a bullet-point summary of why Lola had reacted the way she did, and Doc was gracious enough to forgive her.

Back in the present, on the roof, Tommy was pulling on his underwear, and the others were arguing about which strip club to go to, and Lola was drinking whiskey from the bottle with a grin.

“Vince, my man,  _what_ are we gonna do with Miss Gone here? Running off and making noise complaints with our drummer,” Nikki slung an around around her as they walked through the halls of the hotel to Tommy’s room so he could at least find some pants before they hit the town. Nikki pinches her cheek when she laughs, and Vince’s arm wraps around her waist as he falls into step beside the two of them.

“Really, she’s a terrible influence,” he grins, pinching at her hip, and Lola seems a little giddy from all the attention, “but the way I see it, we can do whatever we want with her.”

“Is that a promise?” Lola grins sharply, and it’s all Nikki can do to laugh.

Lola’s always just sort of gone along with whatever the others were doing, at least at night. She’s found herself at home in countless sleazy strip joints, B-list celebrities thrilled to have a rock band partying with them, and shitty motel rooms getting high with groupies and dealers alike. During the day she’s usually either trying to work off her hangover by exercising in whatever the nearest gym is, or stealing whatever’s not nailed down wherever the band is required. She doesn’t think much about her future in LA until Vince brings up that he’d bought a house.

The tour had been going well enough that the label was practically funneling them money, and Doc keeps handing Lola checks that she keeps putting in the ziploc bag with the rest of them, which she still carries around with her. She’s aware that she should probably open a bank account at some stage, but she’s not exactly sure how.

“A house? Like a whole fucking house?” Lola’s incredulous where she’s sitting in Nikki’s lap at a bar after a show. Her hair’s a mess and her makeup’s streaking a little, but she’s beaming with pride.

“Not just a house, a  _whole fucking mansion_ ,” Vince grins, his arm around two different groupies. Tommy’s somewhere in the crowd, sans shirt probably, but he can take care of himself.

“Holy shit; you’re really moving up in the world,” Lola mused, gaze a little glassy, “god, I haven’t even really thought about our shithole apartment in ages.”

“Tommy’s been talking about getting his own place too, you should get a house or something, babe, move out of that cockroach infested hell hole.” Vince grins, and Lola pouts, playing at being put out by the suggestion.

“Oi, I like our hell hole,” but she breaks out into a grin, “I dunno, I hadn’t thought about it, I guess. It’s probably a good idea.” Instead of looking to Vince, she finds herself turning to Nikki, who’s zoned out, his hand on her thigh, the other holding a bottle of whiskey.

She brings it up on the tour bus the next day; Nikki’s sitting at the back with his notebook, poring over some lyrics for a song he’s working on, and Lola had been laying with her head in his lap. The tour only has a few stops to go, and when she considers what happens next, all she knows is that at the very least, Nikki is there with her. The other boys are of course there too, but they’re getting places of their own, and she and Nikki have lived together for years before they even came into the equation.

“Do you think we should get, like, a fancy Hollywood mansion or something?” Lola asks, and Nikki’s eyebrows raise in surprise, moving his notebook so he could see her face, see her looking thoughtfully up at him.

“What?”

“When we get back to LA, we should move into a place that’s less, ah,” Lola pauses for a moment, smile turning amused, “less condemned, probably.”

“I figured you’d get your own place,” Nikki admits, and Lola frowns a little, bright mood dampening, “we don’t need to keep living together, you don’t have to keep paying the rent for me.”

“I figured we’d buy a place, you dumbass,” Lola laughed, “between us we’ve got enough to buy a small country, I thought a house wouldn’t be off the table.” But her smile fades, “but if you don’t wanna live with me anymore that’s fine too, we’ve spent more than enough time in close proximity, I get it if you want space or-”

“You know,” Nikki says with a slight smirk, reaching down to card his fingers through Lola’s hair, “when we ran away to LA together, I honestly never in a million years thought it would come to us talking about buying a house together.” He admits. Something in Lola’s chest grew warm at his words, and she smiles softly up at him.

“So that’s a yes? We’re cool to keep living together after the tour?”

“Lo, it’s a ’ _yes, we’ll start looking at houses and shit when we get back to LA_ ’.”


	21. you look like a man you'll never meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all have houses! The tour is over! Lola and Nikki fight about what is and isn’t a shitty father!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, drinking and drugs and blowjobs in ikea but not explicitly. arguments about shitty parents.

Three houses. No license. Three different sets of emotions and feelings that can pass for love. More money than her family ever had locked in a safe in the back of her closet with her piano score books.

When they get back from tour, the four of them clear out what little shit they care about from the apartment. Vince doesn't even bother coming to collect anything.

"If I've left any shit there,  _burn it_." 

Tommy, after hearing that, follows his lead, but he comes along for nostalgia, if nothing else. Nikki collects a few stashes of drugs and cash that he'd left behind in case of emergency. Lola collects up the porn magazines and piano sheet music she'd left in the closet, along with a folded up piece of paper that Tommy snatches the moment it catches his interest. His expression turns amused as he unfolds it.

"You have got the weirdest fuckin' spank bank, Lo," he turns the photo to Nikki, who laughs, though Lola's expression sours considerably and she tries to awkwardly get the picture back, "seriously, in with all those nudie mags you've got a fuckin'  _photocopy_ of a burnt picture of an old, Hawaiian dude?" He squints at words written on the back, reads out the first of two names; "Oh,  _Maleko Fields,_ sounds  _saucy_ ,or is he Kaitlin?" Lola actually flinches at that, but he doesn't seem to notice, "Either way, I've gotta hand it to you, that's an  _extremely_ specific-"

"That's my  _dad,_ you  _asshole_!" It comes out as a growl, and Tommy's face falls. Lola grabs the old picture back, carefully refolding it and tucking it into the front of one of the piano books. 

The three of them are looking for places, but they crash on Vince's sofa until they find ones they like, though it doesn't take long. They're not exactly picky, just wanting something gaudy, with a good view, and a pool, and more bathrooms than any of them rightly need. Lola doesn't care much about how the house is decorated, but she calls up Doc the morning after she and Nikki are given the keys; she wants a piano, and she wants him to put her in touch with whoever can give her the gaudiest, most expensive piano known to man. 

"I want Elton John to have fucked on it, I want those keys diamond encrusted, I want Freddie fucking Mercury to have done coke off of it, I want the Piano Man piano!" She announces, standing in the sparsely decorated living room, hand on her hip, looking out the window, already feeling herself getting bored of the conversation and wanting to explore the balcony and the view beyond.

"Are you fucking high? It's not even nine," Doc grumbles. It's a Sunday, Lola doesn't even consider for a second that she might have woken him up. If you pay enough money, anyone will get up when you ask, real estate agents and band managers alike, is how she reasons it.

"Of course I'm fucking high, and I've got a house of my own and cash to blow; I want what Johann Sebastian Bach had! I want Tchaikovsky, I want Stravinsky, I want  _fucking Gershwin_!" She demanded, getting louder and more dramatic with each name she rattled off.

"If you yell one more composer at me, you're fired." Doc cuts her off, before yawning, "listen; you guys are coming in next week to start work on the new album, right? I'll get a number for you by then if you promise to make sure they're here on time."

"On time?" Lola actually laughs. Doc sighs, and gives her an hour leeway, but they come to an agreement. 

Nikki's still asleep on the mattress on the floor of their new bedroom, but Lola's strung out body clock had her up at four in the morning, and she hasn't been able to get back to sleep. She watched the sun rise over the LA skyline on one side of the house, lost track of time watching the ocean from their balcony on the other side while drinking a bottle of spiced rum, swam naked in their brand new pool, and tried to make a list of all the furniture they needed to buy, but just ended up writing sofa and underlining it five times as she lay on the plush carpet of the living room. 

The photocopy of the photo of Lola's father sits on the kitchen island, staring silently at the ceiling; Nikki calls it creepy when he wakes up. He laments for a moment about not having a fridge before pulling a beer from the case they'd opened the night before in celebration.

"Why is it burned?" He asks, cracking the can, "and why haven't you finished the job?" He snickers and takes a loud, obnoxious sip. Lola gives him a shove, glaring down at the picture for a long moment.

"Because he's fuckin' out there somewhere, and what if I forget what he looks like?" She turns, raising her eyebrows at Nikki expectantly.

"So you keep it around so you know who to burn when the real thing shows up?" He asks, and Lola scowls. "Why don't I know shit about your parents?" Nikki asks bluntly. Lola takes the drink from his hands and begins to gulp it down, but he steals it back, and ends up getting beer all over both of them in the struggle.

"I'm not gonna burn my dad," Lola, beer covered and strung out at midday on a Sunday, speaks in a tone that Nikki can't quite identify. Her hand comes up to scratch at her shoulder blade, and he's not even sure if she's aware that she's doing it. "He was great, okay? When he was around he was great. When  _\- when_ he comes back, I wanna show him that I'm better, alright? That - you know what? Fuck it, I don't have to explain shit to you, Nikki." Her whole face scrunches up and she picks up the photo.

"If he was such a great fuckin' guy, why'd he leave? Great dads don't fuckin' do that-" 

Lola pushes Nikki had enough that he actually falls on his ass, and there's tears in her eyes. 

"I get that  _you're_  dad's an asshole,  _Frankie_ , but-"

" _Shut up_!" Nikki snaps, scrambling to his feet, expression  _furious_ , "you fucking bitch, that's not my name-"

"Don't talk shit about my fucking dad!" Lola steps up to him, her hands braced against his chest, but he catches her wrists before she can shove him again.

"He sounds like a fucking dirtbag!" 

" _You're_  the dirtbag; don't take your daddy issues out on me!" Lola doesn't fight his hold, just glares up at him as tears begin to flow down her cheeks. Nikki's mouth is pressed into a thin, unhappy line.

"A dirtbag with daddy issues, and mommy issues; a slut with no standards, no taste, and good hair?" He laughs but it's bitter; he won't let her go, still holding her to him by her wrists. Lola's still crying, face twisted and angry, but she doesn't step back or try and escape his grip, "we're two sides of the same fuckin' coin,  _Kaitie_ , and I know from shit dads. If your fuckin' dirtbag dad wasn't there when he could have been, when he  _should_ have been, then he's shit." His grip on her hands tightens just a little. "No exceptions. Burn his picture."

The damn bursts and Lola actually wails, presses her forehead to Nikki's chest. He doesn't hug her, his expression is stony as he tries not to think too hard about the moment he found himself in. He'd made Lola cry.

"You look just like him anyways." He's not sure what he means by that, and he's not even sure if Lola registered it. 

"I hate you." He hears her sniffle quietly.

"You'll get over it."

It's the worst fight they've had in a while, and Lola pins her father's photo directly to the living room wall out of spite. She stays with Tommy for a few days, but Nikki still doesn't touch the picture. 

With Tommy, she actually goes grocery shopping with him, as strangely domestic as it is. They take turns pushing the cart too fast down the aisles while the other rides on the front until Tommy loses control and Lola ends up winded and crushed against the cereal boxes. They try to cook together and almost start a fire, and end up eating pizza that first night Lola stays at the house. Tommy's sofa is excessively big, and they could easily spread out in space of their own, but they enjoy being tangled up with each other while  _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ plays on his brand new TV.

If she never wanted to go back to Nikki, she knows she probably wouldn't have to. They haven't even been living together officially for two days and they're already fighting. Her body clock is fucked, and she contemplates her life at five in the morning, watching the gentle rise and fall of Tommy's chest with his breathing as he sleeps soundly. 

She loved Tommy, and she knew he loved her, and the same could be said for Vince, and even Mick, though to a much lesser extent. The point is, if she wanted to keep running from herself, she'd never lack accommodation, she'd never lack love, in one way or another. Doc had once told her that she was very easy to love, when she wanted to be, very easy to be endeared towards when she wasn't spitting acid or starting a fight or kicking up a stink. Even Doc himself admitting to being rather endeared to her, though he clarified that ' _it's like the love you have for a rescue animal, a stray you nurse back to health and give to a shelter'_. She's smacked him angrily, and told him she was a person. Doc agreed, but his words had stuck with her. 

Very easy to love. Very hard to like. 

When she gets back to her house, it's almost six, almost sunrise, the house is still mostly empty, and Nikki's awake. The picture's still on the wall, and he's sitting on a deck chair on the balcony with a bottle of Jack for company. The sun rises on the other side of the house, but he's fixated on the ocean.

"His name was Maleko, and my mom's name was Irene."

"I didn't-" he seems confused to see her there at all. But Lola's quick to cut him off.

"Shut up, I'm telling you about my parents," Lola grabbed the bottle from him, sitting cross legged on the cool tiles right by him, looking out at the ocean.

"Why?"

"Because I've know you for years, and it's weird that I haven't told you about my family, okay? You were right." She tipped the bottle back, swallowing hard.

"You look like your dad," Nikki's voice is softer this time, though it's neither positive nor negative, and Lola snorted a laugh.

"Yeah, it was the only part about me mom liked after he left." She inhaled sharply, passing back the bottle, "like I said, his name was Maleko, but from what I can remember, he went by Leo, and I don't know why he left, but he's not a damn dirtbag, okay? He was kinder than my fucking mom ever was, and-" she clenched her jaw, pausing for a moment to search her jacket pockets for her cigarettes, before lighting one, "and listen, I just wanted him to be proud, I just wanted him to smile again, because I swear that motherfucker was made of sunshine." She angrily wiped a tear from her eye before it spilled. 

Nikki was quiet for a very long time, didn't know what to say, still up from the night before, and drunk as all hell. He reached out and scratched at Lola's scalp gently, in liu of a reaction. She just laughed.

"Why- why 're you back?" Nikki asked finally.

"Do you like me, Nikki?" She counters with, and Nikki hums a little, still scratching her hair.

"Of course, you're one of the few assholes I can put up with for more than a few days at a time," it's not the highest compliment in the world, but Lola's beaming nonetheless.

"I think I like you too," she snorted. Nikki's stopped scratching her head and is raising the bottle of Jack to his lips, frowning.

"Did we go back to the damn third grade? What's gotten into you?"

The house is undecorated because Nikki says he didn't have the patience to not go into a homicidal rage in IKEA. He won't admit that it felt weird to be buying furniture for  _their_ house without Lola. It's decorated mostly in blacks, or dark chestnut wood, and the bedframe is strong enough that Lola won't break it if she's tied up to it, and Lola buys a frame for her father's photo. They buy a new sofa, and Lola feels the strangest, most irrational twinge of guilt, like she's betrayed the sofa they pulled off the curb all those years ago; she tells Nikki and he smirks, offers to buy a box cutter and slash the sofa up to make it feel like home.

"Or we could just fuck on it until it's got just as many stains," he grins, it's all sharp teeth and the promise of a bigger bite.

"Now you're speaking my language," she smirks back, and she grabs his hand, pulls him behind a display bedroom set with a particularly large cupboard. She sucks him off before some underpaid assistant can interrupt them, and he repays the favor in the store's bathroom, and somehow  _this_ is the strangest situation they've ever gotten each other off in. Clubs, pubs, hotel pools, closets at TV studios, parks, alley ways, any number of places on tour that Lola honestly doesn't remember - they've got nothing on a furniture store where they're deciding on furnishings for their shared house. Lola doesn't want to think about why that is, so she just enjoys the moment.

It seems like no time at all before they're back in the studio, and so when they're not working, they're drinking, and partying, and using their mansions the way LA mansions often found themselves being used; for parties.

Tommy's out every night in LA, still looking like he could walk on stage at any minute, but he has a few starlets calling him up every so often. If he's not at clubs, he's with the Vince at a strip club, and sometimes Nikki's with them, though Lola's there about as often as Vince. Vince himself got his heart caught on a woman he meets at a club named Sharise, who is lovely and loud and beautiful, and she calls Lola ' _sweetheart_ ' without making it sound condescending, even when she's coming out of Vince's mansion and Lola's coming in, both fully aware of the situation at hand.

"I'm pretty sure she doesn't actually know my name," Lola sits on Vince's marble countertops in her underwear, eating grilled cheese in the afternoon. Later, Tommy and a few other guys Lola sort of knows will be around, pregaming before they hit the town. Maybe Sharise will come by, maybe she'll bring friends; Lola likes when she brings friends, finds she likes getting ready to go out with girls, sometimes even more than getting ready with the band.

Back in the present, with Lola on the counter, Vince laughs where he's mixing a bunch of spirits in a fancy glass and calling it a cocktail, even though it seems closer to molotov rather than anything you'd be able to find at a bar. 

"Sorry, baby, do you want a formal introduction?" He asks, and offers the drink to Lola to try. 

"Needs more Captain Morgan," Lola wrinkled her nose after a hearty gulp, handing it back, "and yeah, maybe, I don't know; you seem pretty serious about her."

"Why've you gotta keep drinking like you're broke, at this point I'm begging you to get better taste," Vince took back his drink with a faux wounded expression, holding it to his chest before he took a tentative sip. Lola's eyes shined with amusement.

"Believe me, lover boy, you don't want me to raise my standards in any way, shape, or form." Her leg comes down from the counter, dangling by the cabinets, and she leans back onto her elbows, cheeky smile on her lips as she poses, a challenging look in her eyes.

"Ouch," Vince snorts, but he's clearly not hurt by her words as he leans in and kisses her. When he pulls back, however, he's more contemplative than Lola's used to seeing him, and he sips his drink again before letting his thoughts form words; "I mean, yeah, Sharise-" he pauses, "there's just something about her, dude, she's hot and sweet and fuck, she's got a real bite to her-"

"Of course, you wouldn't like her half as much if she wasn't at least a little bit mean to you," Lola teased.

"Watch it, it's the only reason I keep you around anymore," Vince fires back with a smirk, and though they both know it's not true, Lola plays along.

"Oi! I also give fantastic head." 

Sharise is going to be around for a while, and she and Lola get along well enough, so Vince will walk that tightrope as long as he possibly can.

Lola splits her time between houses, between her partners, although occasionally Tommy will spend the night with her and Vince, or her and Nikki, though Nikki's never been one to take the initiative the way the others would. Both Vince and Nikki's places have a piano, while Tommy has a keyboard in his studio, and Lola finds herself playing more and more. 

For a while, for a good,  _long_ while, Lola thinks she might be happy. She finds herself taking less pills, if only to clear her head enough to remember how to play her favourite songs, though she's still drinking rum like it's water, and taking more coke than any reasonable person probably should. 

It won't last, this feeling, this contentment, she knows it won't last, but right now, she's playing Elton John, watching the sun set over the Ocean, while Nikki applies his eyeliner in the bathroom, and Vince is singing along where he's eating Chinese food in the kitchen with Tommy. Someone rings the doorbell, and she can hear more cars pulling up, and there's a strange, warm pride that fills her chest.

 


	22. a loss is a loss is a loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to go south when Roxie joins the party. They go on tour and Lola starts spiraling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, big drug warning, (consensual) drugged sex warning, also angst.

The new tour is off to a terrible start, despite the album’s smashing success.

Tommy and Lola aren’t on speaking terms, for the first time since they’d met.

Tommy had met a groupie named Roxie only a few weeks before the tour started, and he’d claimed it was love at first sight. Much to everyone else’s chagrin, Tommy was adamant that she’d be joining them on tour. Normally, this wouldn’t have bothered Lola; since Vince had started getting more serious with Sharise, she’d backed off considerably out of respect. But with Roxie? From the moment she’d met the woman, Lola had gotten a bad vibe from her, had gotten nothing but withering glares and jealous scoffs whenever Lola went anywhere  _near_ Tommy.

One particular evening, Lola had kissed Tommy on the cheek before she’d headed home from a club they were partying at, and Roxie had the gall to catch her outside, snarling for Lola to back off. Lola, for her part, wasn’t much intimidated by the waifish groupie. Her lip curled as she gave the woman a disdainful look over.

“Don’t tell me you’re this stupid,” Lola actually laughed, though Roxie just raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re lucky I don’t kick your fucking ass; don’t ever think  _for a second_  that you call the shots here.”

Lola had tried to bring it up to Tommy, but she’d never had the best way with words, and with Tommy love-drunk and Lola bitter and vulgar, it didn’t come out the way she’d intended -

“Don’t call her a bitch just because you’re jealous!” Tommy’s not  _yelling_ , persay, but he’s close enough to it that Lola’s hands fist reflexively. They’re not even on the tour bus yet, they’re loading their gear, and Roxie is  _late_.

“I’m calling her a bitch because she’s  _a_ _bitch_ ,” Lola snarls, turning her temper on Tommy for the first time, and he seems shocked, but what had he really expected. “She’s a gold digger and a -”

“Dude, you’re such a hypocrite-”

“Oh shut up; I’m not a hypocrite, I’ve paid my way from day fucking one, and I think I’ve been pretty up front about being a whore.” Crossing her arms, Lola looks smug, though her heart’s not in her words, she’s not enjoying it like she did with their usual banter. Tommy’s genuinely angry by the look of him, fuming with frustrated, close to banging his head against the bus.

“Oh that’s fucking rich,” Tommy snorted, crossing his arms, unable to look Lola in the eyes.

“Oh  _I’m sorry_ ,” Lola snapped, sarcastic and sharp, “is it true love Tommy? Did you find  _The One_ , your soulmate, after she was done fucking Whitesnake?” Lola sneered.

“Fuck you, you absolute fucking hypocrite. I don’t give a shit what you think, I love her -”

“Then you’re dumber than I gave you credit for,” Lola smirked, no warmth behind her eyes, “fuck dude, you fall for anyone with tits who gives you the time of day.” It was mean, plain and simple, her words cruel as they cut him like a knife. He snaps, hands flexing into fists by his sides though he’s rooted to the spot.

“My girlfriend  _isn’t_ a whore,  _or_ a bitch; you’re just jealous because I’m trying to be a good fucking boyfriend for someone who  _isn’t you_. It’s not  _my_  fault you learned how to love from  _Nikki_ _fucking_ _Sixx_ _,_ you possessive asshole!”

Silence hangs in the air, Tommy’s mouth pressed into a thin, unhappy line. It settles, his words, his meaning, taking up all the space between them, and he begins to realise what he said, begins to feel like he’s just picked the bad ending of a choose-your-own-adventure novel, with the way Lola’s lips curl into a cruel imitation of a smile. It’s not what he expected, and there’s apologies laying heavy on his tongue, pressing against his teeth as he watches something die behind Lola’s eyes.

“Tommy,” she says, and every fucking hair on his arms stands straight up at her sweetly poisonous tone. He’s waiting for a rebuttal, something cutting and cruel, laced with thinly-veiled threat, but no words seem to want to come out. Speechless, which she can’t even seem to believe herself, she opens and closes her mouth a few times. He’s hit too close to home, it’s written all over her face as she struggles to reply.

“Lols-” he tries, voice soft and regretful, but her expression hardens.

“Fuck you.” She breaks a little, her snort of derision a cruel, bitter sound, but it’s hollow, and she can’t look him in the eye. When she heads into the bus, she opens a bottle of Jack, drinking it like she’s dying of dehydration, and seems happy enough to pass out at the back of the bus as the rest of the band bring the rest of their luggage aboard.

Doc, who’d already been on the bus, usually made it his personal mission in life to interfere with Lola’s personal relationships with the band as little as possible, and though he acted as though he hadn’t heard anything, he also does a rather solid of job of keeping the rest of the band at the front of the bus, giving her what little peace he could manage.

Lola isn’t herself this tour, though she’d like to argue that she’s more herself than ever.

And she and Tommy aren’t on speaking terms.

It takes Nikki and Vince a while to notice how distant she is; they blame her the cold shoulder she gives Tommy on Roxie’s presence, and they’re right in one way, but not in the way that matters. Vince thinks she’s spending less time with  _him_ because of Sharise. Nikki’s just under the assumption that she’s hooking up with groupies for a change of pace. The band goes out, goes to clubs and bars and strip clubs, but Lola disappears early in the night, and they’ll see her the next morning wearing a grin that’s all teeth, and a set of fresh bruises and scratches. They don’t worry, but maybe they should.

“I’ve gone - I’ve gone fucking  _soft_ , how the fuck did I let that happen?” She laughs one night, but it’s too honest, an anger in her words that simmers just below the surface. She’s got a black eye and a split lip; she’s always in black, in leather, but now there’s splatters of blood. It’s across her knuckles, her pants, her jacket; some of its hers, some of its not, and it shines in the light outside the strip club. The guy holding his heavily bleeding nose looks at her like she’s lost her mind, stumbling away.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he snaps, his nervous gaze flicking to the bouncer, who watches with amusement. Lola’s eyes are wide, grin sharp as she nods in agreement. The band is still inside, but she doesn’t even try to get back in. Maybe she wants them to come looking for her, to notice that she’s gone, but they don’t.

Lola stumbles her own way to where she thinks the band’s latest hotel is, though it’s a coin flip as to whether she’ll wind up there. Sometimes she’ll find her way to another club or bar, or a group just as inebriated as she is will welcome her into their fold, if only for the one night.

Someone gives her a cigarette laced with something they don’t tell her about, in a dirty motel three blocks from the band. She’s sick within minutes, shaking and barely upright as she clutches at the sink in the bathroom.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re not used to it,” the man that had given it to her pats her on the back. He holds her hair back with one hand, and takes a drag from the cigarette with the other. It’s filthy, everything about being here, about him, about every other person in the other room, it’s covered in grime, and Lola feels it in her gut right before she throws up, can feel it across every inch of her skin.

More than anything, she wishes she was back in LA, back in her mansion, on the sofa with Nikki, her head in his lap while he’s working on some lyrics. Or laughing in Vince’s kitchen as he attempts to teach her how to cook eggs, even though he’s not particularly good at it himself, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s smiling at her with that glint in his eyes that makes Lola’s heart ache a little now when she thinks about it. Or -

Lola stops herself before she can get too caught up, takes a long drink of water from the tap before turning, wearing her most winning smile.

“I’m a quick study.” She takes the cigarette, but doesn’t take a drag. Instead, she presses her lips to the man whose name she doesn’t know, and lets him breathe smoke into her mouth. His tongue runs along her bottom lip, and his hand comes to grip at her ass, and everything feels  _so wrong_.

Lola takes another hit of whatever’s in the cigarette.

She feels it, feels ill, but now she feels herself relaxing. It’s slowly becoming the best high she’s ever had, and simultaneously one of the worst.

“What’s in that?” She slurs a little when they finally come out of the bathroom, and Lola is happy to let him drape her on the sofa. The other people in the room, mostly strung out, are scattered on the two grubby double beds, in various states of undress. There’s no shame because no-one’s coherent enough to feel it.

“Don’t you worry, baby; it feels good, don’t it?” And she’s not sure if he’s referring to the drugs or his hand up her skirt, but she laughs, low and syrupy, and nods.

Someone else in the room stumbles to the cassette player by the table, and Lola gives a start at the familiar riff that claws it’s way from the speakers. She can’t help herself, she starts laughing, the sound bright and sharp, so different from the dreamy sound that had escaped her moments ago.

“What?” The man frowned, his hand stilling on her thigh, confusion written all over his face.

“It’s about me.” That just seemed to confuse him further. Lola, for a moment, hummed along with  _Looks That Kill,_ “ _she’s got the looks that kill_ ,” she sang under her breath, her hand finding his, guiding him to finish what he’d started, even has he frowned in confusion.

“What the fuck,” the man laughed, before he chuckled in disbelief, grinning brightly, his head following his hand. Lola gasped and arched, eyes falling closed as she hums along to the song, hips shifting to the beat of the drum.

“Nikki wrote it about me,” she breathes, and the man stops.

“You’re a big fan of Motley Crue then?” He asked, as if humoring her. Instead of answering, Lola whined gently, her hand fisting in his hair, ignoring the question.

“Don’t stop,” she practically begs, and it works. They fuck right there on the sofa, with a shitty Motley Crue cassette as the background noise, and Lola is pretty sure that she’ll find the humour in that later. If she remembers it. For now, it feels  _fucking incredible_ , whatever was in that cigarette has her on cloud nine, the man between her legs knows what he’s doing, and when she closes her eyes she can pretend she’s with someone she  _actually_ loves.

She comes with Tommy’s name on her lips, and despite being high as all hell, the man -  _who absolutely is not Tommy, despite how lanky he is_ \- takes enough offence that he tells her to get lost. Lola stumbles to her feet, unsteady, and spits at him. He shoves her, but she’s knows how to keep her balance, even if she stumbles. He calls her pathetic, and she takes the cassette player from the table, and smacks him in the face with it. The music cuts out with the crash, and he drops like a ton of bricks. Lola’s hands shake as she takes out the Motley Crue tape, and she leans in close where he’s passed out on the grubby floor.

“You don’t deserve this,” she scoffs, waving the tape, ignoring as one of the other occupants of the room asks why the music’s stopped. Lola ignores her, and makes her way outside.

Much to her own surprise, she’d remembered the name of the hotel the band had been staying at, and when she collapses against the front desk, it’s only a few minutes before an irate Doc comes to collect her.

“You smell like shit,” he tells her sharply, an arm around her as he leads her to the elevator.

“Thank you,” Lola grinned, eyes unfocused and hazy, leaning almost her whole weight on the manager, stumbling to keep up with him. She’s still got the tape clutched in her hand.

“Nikki’s got company,” is what he tells her as he lets her into her own room, and Lola tries to swing at him, but he shoves her none to gently into the room, shutting the door behind her. It’s like she’s been winded, standing in the middle of the room, clutching at the tape so tightly it cracks in her fist.

And maybe it hurts that no-one seems to notice or care that she doesn’t spend most nights in the same hotel as the band. Or maybe someone should be worried that she keeps waking up in parking lots and can’t remember how she got there.  But she knows if she makes it back with them, she’ll just remember how the people she loves are all moving on.

Maybe, she’d thought, just maybe Nikki would see that she’s spiraling; he’s the only one left she’s still allowed to love. But he takes it too easily in stride, adapts to not having her around, fills the space she’s left by his side with any number of meaningless flings in cities all across the country.

Tommy was wrong. She’d never learned to love from Nikki, who lets go too easily; she’d learned to love from her mother, where to love is to hold someone close until they want to run, it seems, until they burn.

She doesn’t want to love like that.

So she’d let them go.

On the tour bus the next day, she’ll talk and laugh with them like nothing’s wrong, and in that moment, it won’t be. Nikki will be next to her, or Vince will have an arm around her, and she’ll take a swig from Mick’s vodka when he offers it. She doesn’t spiral when the sun can see her, but that’s easier said than done when she meets Tommy’s gaze, and just for the moment his smile falters.

She tells herself she doesn’t need him.

“ _Nikki’s got company_.”

She doesn’t  _need_  any of them. Not tonight. Not ever.

In a few hours, Doc will come wake her up, everyone will pile on the bus, and she’ll pretend like she doesn’t miss living in a shithole, alone with Nikki, uncomplicated; the two of them against the world.


	23. everything i've ever let go of has claw marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lola catches Roxie cheating on Tommy, and so takes back what's hers. Also Tommy's parents are there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, um angst ish i guess, also lola being manipulative

Nothing any of these boys do will break her heart.

That's what Lola tells herself every day. Chants it like a mantra. Because it's not allowed to hurt. It's not allowed to be real.

They're not allowed to break her heart, because  _they can't_. She  _won't let them_.

They're allowed to fall in love and she's not going to care. Caring is nothing but a waste of time, especially when everyone she cares about will move on to -  _well, they can't move on to_ better  _things_ , she tells herself, a little smug and a little high,  _but they'll move on_. So she's not allowed to get attached. 

But she's lying.

Because when Nikki's not around, she feels it like a physical ache, whether she wants to or not. He's been there for so long it's like she's missing a limb. When Vince pulls her close, holds her tight, all she can think about is how they're delaying the inevitable, how he doesn't smile at her like he used to, how he'd rather be with Sharise; he doesn't say it out loud, but the insecurity won't leave her mind. And Tommy... he's so close but so,  _so_ far away. She'd loved that drummer from the moment she met him, just about, had been the first person she'd been able to admit that too, and he'd thrown it in her face in a moment of anger. She's terrified that if she touches him, feeling the way she feels, she'll burn him. 

They don't even realise they're breaking her heart. 

They don't think she has one, not really.

She's a toy they can fuck when they're bored, shiny and plastic with no heart to break. 

So she tries to believe it.

Nothing these boys can do will break her heart.

But Tommy's parents are coming to a show, and Lola thinks she's going to scream.

"Lola!" When Doc ushers them into the lobby of the venue, and Lola's on her way to find the bar, she feels her heart stop in her chest at the bright greeting Tommy's father offers her, "it's so lovely to see you, and to see you're still with the band!"

"I'm really moving up in the world," she plasters on a smile and hears the words come out of her mouth, but doesn't really seem to register them.

"That's right, you two know Miss Gone," Doc's smiling amicably, like he and Lola weren't shouting at each other just half an hour ago, "she's the band's assistant manager now."

"Congratulations," Tommy's mother says with surprising fondness, a knowing gleam in her eyes as she pulls Lola in for a hug. When she steps back, she smiles, "Tommy always spoke so highly of you." Something about her tone, about that look, it has a lump forming in Lola's throat, and it's all she can do to smile and leave as fast as possible, tears pricking her eyes.

When she gets backstage, with a bottle of Jack in each hand and a dead-eyed stare, Nikki's busy with a groupie by the sound of it, Tommy's in the auditorium, loud and excited as he gives his parents the full tour, and so Lola sits in Vince's dressing room as he gets ready, the two of them taking a few bumps, drinking most of a bottle between them, and if she goes down on him, she does it because she's bored, not because she likes hearing the way he moans her name, his hands fisted in her hair.

There's a knock at the door followed by a moment of silence, in which Vince let's out a very strained ' _just a minute_ ' and Lola's trying not to laugh with his dick in her mouth. Doc's sigh is loud enough that they can both hear it through the door.

"Vince, Tommy's looking for you," he sounds so unbelievably beleaguered, and Lola won't even begin to process what he's saying, but she sits back on her heels so she can laugh, "and Lola?" Doc asks like he doesn't want her to actually be in there, to spare his weary existence from having to have confirmation of their activities. 

"Uh-huh?" Lola half laughs in response anyways.

"We're starting sound checks soon, you're needed by the sound guys." 

"Sounds like fun," she responds coyly, though she's pretty sure Doc's already moved on, not even waiting for her response.

It's not that he cares what she does with them, it's just that he's watched her spiral for the past few weeks, and knows that the more time she spends with the boys, the worse she gets. 

Lola and Vince finish quickly, and Vince is zipping up his pants and heading out the door while Lola fixes her hair. Doc is back by the time she's happy with how she looks, knocking on Nikki's door. Lola's amusement sours considerably however, when the door opens, and Roxie scampers out, like a dog with it's tail between it's legs.

Blood running ice cold, Lola stopped where she had been walking behind Doc, her gaze locking with Nikki's. 

"Tommy wants to introduce you to his parents," they both hear Doc say, though neither really registers it. Nikki smirks a little, like he's expecting her to be proud or amused, like fucking the girl who inadvertently hurt Lola was a joke, or payback somehow on Lola's behalf. 

All it did was hurt. 

Another person she loved, another person she cared about, had picked Roxie over her. 

All it did was prove that Roxie didn't even care for Tommy, because Nikki wouldn't think it was as amusing as he clearly thought it was if it was a situation close to what he and Lola and the other two had.  _This_ was a secret. A terribly kept secret, but one that would hurt Tommy nonetheless. 

Lola's expression turned cool, and she blinked slowly, apathy that barely concealed anger written all over her face. Without wasting another moment, she was walking to the stage. 

She's supervising where one of the other roadies is running cords beneath the drum risers, arms crossed, expression dark and pensive, when Tommy walks in, brimming with enthusiasm.

"Check this out!" He announces, "Pyro coming out of those;" he points out a few of the pyrotechnic devices before making a beeline for the rocks by his drumrisers, making a show of struggling to lift them, before lifting them with ease, showing off that they're fake as his parents laugh along. "Ma, dad, you remember -" his voice catches in his throat as his eyes land on Lola, and she looks at him. It's the first time they've looked each other in the eyes since the start of the tour, and his expression falls. Lola's, curiously enough, softens, just a little, barely noticeably to anyone who's not paying close attention.

"Yes, we met dear Lola in the, uh," Tommy's mother struggles to find the word, missing the shift in mood from both her son and Lola, and his father quietly fills in  _'lobby_ ' for her, still smiling. Tommy turns to his mother, smiling, seeming to be relieved when Nikki and Doc step into view and he can change the subject quickly.

"And  _this_ is the  _Sixxter._ " 

Nikki high fives him like he hadn't had his dick in Tommy's girlfriend only minutes before, and Lola's lip curls in quiet disgust. She's well aware she's a hypocrite, but she can't bring herself to care.

"It's so good to finally meet you," Tommy's mother hugs Nikki the way she'd hugged Lola, and Lola's pretty sure the confusion and slight discomfort that reads on Nikki's face had read on hers at the time. Or maybe he's feeling guilty about Tommy, but she doubts it.

Tommy's father shakes Nikki's hand, declares it a pleasure to meet him, and Nikki scowls as Doc offers to fly  _his_ family out to meet them all. Despite everything that's happened in the past five minutes, Nikki and Lola make eye contact, sharing a moment of solidarity as Nikki rolls his eyes, and Lola mimes shooting herself in the head, at the mere suggestion of family.

But then Tommy's brimming with excitement again, calling for Roxie to come meet his parents, and Nikki's trying to hide behind his hair.

"Mom, dad, this is Roxie. My fiance."

 _What_.

That seems to be news to  _everyone_ , Nikki included, but Roxie's wearing a sharp smile as she offers her hand to Tommy's mother.

"Nice to meet you." Roxie sounds disinterested, and Lola wants to throw something.

"We're getting married!" Tommy announces with a grin, though his parents just seemed confused.

"What's the rush, Tom? Marriage is a big decision," his father sounds hesitant, though Tommy's not even a little bit concerned, his arm around Roxie's shoulders.

" _Exactly_! You proposed to mom the night you guys met and she didn't even speak English! That's  _love,_ dude!" He gave Roxie a squeeze and Nikki was already heading backstage, probably to drink away the memory of his astoundingly regrettable decision. "That's what I've always wanted! And that's what I've got," he gave a lovesick look to Roxie, and Lola was about to hurl herself into the orchestra pit when Tommy's mother turned, giving her a confused look. Lola just shrugged helplessly.

"So," his mother turned back with an unconvincing smile, "how did you and Tommy meet?" At this, Roxie does actually perk up.

"Well, I was actually hanging around this other band, but then, I met Tommy," she sighed in a good imitation of fondness, shrugging and smiling, "and it was totally meant to be."

"Oh, I know this word!" Tommy's mother smiles, glancing over her shoulder at Lola, who was trying to ignore the whole interaction and get on with her job. Looking back, muttering the equivalent in Greek before she finds it in English, there's a sharp look in her eyes, " _groupie_. Like Lola used to be, yes? Is that how they call you?" 

Lola freezes upon hearing this, caught between wanting so desperately to laugh, and also knowing it would just ruin everything further.

Tommy's mother raises an eyebrow at Roxie, who casts a stony look at Tommy himself, and then to Lola, who was trying desperately to keep her poker face. When she storms off, Lola clears her throat in lieu of laughter, and heads off to the other side of the stage.

"Mom!" Tommy hisses, " _not cool!_ "

"I don't understand, you say that word all the time like it's the best thing in the world!"

"Not the- I mean the groupie thing's not cool  _either_ , but the Lola thing - they're  _different_  -" Tommy groans, and his father frowns a little.

"We were under the impression that you and Lola were  _together_  -"

"Well we're  _not,_ dude,  _not anymore!_ " Tommy snaps, and without even meaning to, he catches sight of Lola, smiling to herself, coiling a cord and trying to keep busy, and his heart aches just a little. For the barest moment, she meets his gaze irritated gaze, and surprisingly, she gives a soft, somewhat apologetic smile.

Through the show, Lola's by his parent's side, smiling at him like she used to, and Roxie's on the other side of the stage, dancing, and occasionally scowling when she spots Lola. Roxie's distant that night, maybe it's out of guilt, maybe out of anger, but when Tommy's parents retire to their hotel for the night, and the band stays out partying, Roxie disappears.

"She's tired," Tommy informs them, and Lola nods sympathetically, pleased that already the plan she'd formulated after seeing Roxie leave Nikki's room would be put in to action.

All night Lola's by Tommy's side, smiling and laughing and drinking and snorting. 

"Hey, dude, I-" at the start of the night, before even stepping foot into the bar, she'd pulled Tommy aside, "I'm really sorry about the past few weeks," she laughs a little self consciously, putting on an act of humility, "I've missed you like crazy."

"I've missed you too, Lols," he admits, wrapping her up in a hug that he knows his fiance won't see, since she'd already gone inside.

But to Lola? Oh, it felt like she could breathe freely again. Perhaps she'd missed him more than she'd like to let on; she was just trying to manipulate him, to get him back to her, to get back at Roxie, and Nikki to an extent, she hadn't meant to mean it.

So she's by his side all night, careful not to touch him, but to always be smiling, matching him drink for drink, line for line, smile for smile. The rest of the band disappears to their own debauched antics, but Lola and Tommy are side by side in a booth. Her knee touches his under the table while she's doing a line; it's the first contact she's consciously allowed. Tommy's hand automatically comes to rest on her thigh. 

"I'm sorry," Lola says when she raises her head, and Tommy gives her a confused look, but doesn't move his hand. For a moment Lola considers telling him outright about Nikki and Roxie, but ultimately she knew she wouldn't benefit from it, "I'm sorry I called your girlfriend a bitch -"

"Fiance." Tommy corrected quietly, and Lola nodded.

"You were right," she told him with as much sincerity as she could muster, "I was jealous." Looking him in the eyes, she can see it when cracks start to appear in his booze soaked mind. She knew exactly how to pry them open, to get inside and get what she wanted. "I'm - I'm not like you, I don't know how to love properly, I'm not -" 

"Lols..." Tommy tried to find the words, but he couldn't. Lola very deliberately moved out of his grip.

"But I wanted to, you know?" With a sad smile, she leaves so much unspoken that he can read into, in the way she's looking at him. 

"I - Lols, you know I still love you, right?" The words fall from his lips, they hang in the air as if neither knows quite how to follow that declaration. 

"You're not allowed to," Lola gently and deliberately cups his jaw with her hand, just as she had done a million times before.

"Fuck that, I'm allowed to do whatever I want! Dude, I've known you for like, four years, that's like, my whole adult life - me being with Roxie's not going to change the fact that I lo -"

"It should!" Lola told him, both hands holding his face, looking him in the eyes, "baby, you shouldn't have loved me then, and you shouldn't love me now! I'm  _not_ the sort of girl you bring home to your parents!" And it's the final nail in the coffin; she can see the cogs turning in his head because his parents  _do_ know her, they  _do_ like her, more than Roxie, and she's doing an  _incredible_ job of acting like she just wants the best for him, not that he knows it's an act. He'd been blinded by love, he tells himself, taking Roxie's side and trying to cut out Lola who'd he'd been so close to for so many years, throwing an actual friendship away for a woman who'd proposed to him while high, mumbling something later about wanting to ' _lock him down_ '. 

When he kisses Lola it's hard and insistent, and the old creature of jealousy that sits firm in her chest crows with triumph.

 _Mine_.

" _Fuck_ ," he breathes against her lips, and Lola pulls back, stammers through an apology, but Tommy's shaking his head, grin on his lips, "no, I -  _fuck_ , I missed you." He's murmuring, before he pulls her close. 

Lola takes very little convincing to go back to the hotel, back to her room where they won't be disturbed. Though she's always been adamant that she doesn't make a point of marking boys with bitchy, jealous-type girlfriends, which is  _exactly_ what Roxie is, Lola can't help herself. 

Her teeth on his shoulder.

_He's mine._

Her nails scraping down his back. 

_He's_ **_mine_.**

She pulls his hair like she knows he likes, just to hear him gasp, just to see him grin, and knows quietly that Roxie would never care to know him as well as she did. 

When he wakes in the morning, it's with a confusing mix of guilt and elation, already late for breakfast with his parents and Roxie. Pulling on a shirt from Lola's suitcase that he recognizes as one of his, he's hit with a strange and sincere fondness, that despite everything that had happened, she still takes some small comfort in him. 

And then he's frantically checking for hickeys.

"Don't worry," Lola says through a yawn, "I didn't leave any where anyone could see them," she chuckles, warm and sleepy, "or at all, honestly, but after breakfast, I suggest a good,  _long_ shower to get rid of your -  _sorry_ -" she adds, acting just a touch guilty, "scratches." She pauses, "you know, scrubbing hard and stuff." 

Tommy gave her a small smile, but can't bring himself to say anything. Filled with both regret, and soft adoration, he can't find the words to fill the silence that stretches between them.

"I  _am_  sorry," Lola adds gently, playing at being sincere, despite how thoroughly pleased she really felt. 

And finally, Tommy finds his voice.

"Don't be."

 


	24. thus is winged cupid painted blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mick calls Lola out, which is not good. Roxie stabs Tommy, which is much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: high impact swearing & (non-explicit) stabbing with a pen

After getting back from brunch, getting back to the tour bus, Tommy's acting...  _weird_. Of course  _Lola_ knows why, her smile sharp as knives at Roxie's distrustful glare the next day. If she was feeling particularly petty, she might have feigned sweetness, pretending to make amends for the months of mistrust, but she is content enough in her good mood to not make Tommy squirm with discomfort  _too_ much, since he's doing plenty of that on his own.

Roxie's stuck on him like a magnet, when they're on the bus, ignoring the rest of the band, acting sweet and kind and  _completely_ too-faced.

"Babe, where  _were_ you last night?" She pleads, practically curled up on him as they sit at the back of the bus. Everyone can hear them, can hear Roxie's fake worry, and Lola rolls her eyes, carefully pulling a baggie and razor from her pocket to start cutting up lines of coke on the table beside Nikki.

"Fell asleep in a gutter somewhere," Tommy snorts, wrapping an arm around her, sounding as calm and casual as he ever did. "Woke up to some junkies tryna'..." he trails off, spots Lola wearing a secretive little smile, talking quietly with Nikki at the front of the bus. She looks...  _happy_. Happier than she has all tour. Tommy clears his throat, turning his smile up to a billion watts when he directs it at Roxie, "tryna' rob me, but it's all cool." He lies, "it all worked out."

And Roxie makes like she's worried, makes a show of cooing over him, and seems happy enough to snuggle with him for the moment, to take comfort in his without his mother around, with Lola keeping her distance. With Roxie wrapped in his arms, he can feel the sting of the nail marks Lola's left down his back. At the front of the bus, Nikki asks her what she'd gotten up to last night, and she doesn't even glance at Tommy as her smile widens, tells him that he doesn't wanna know.

"That's my girl," Nikki's sharp grin mirrors her, and he punches her in the shoulder lightly before going in for a line. Mick groans and takes a sip of his vodka.

Lola seems to be settling down again; she still drinks and snorts and fucks along with the rest of them, but she doesn't go out looking for a fight. She and Tommy don't really speak that often, but something's changed between them, even a blind man could see it, and it agitates Roxie more as each day goes on.

"You two are not  _nearly_ as subtle as you think you are," Mick tells Lola when she's delivering him his booze before a show. Lola's answering smile doesn't quiet reach her eyes.

"Me and who? You know I'm not good at subtle," but she still takes the makeup brush from him when he offers it, a silent question that he already knows the answer to. She dips the brush into the loose, dark powder and starts patting it just beneath his cheekbones.

"It's not healthy -"

"Don't talk to me about healthy, you old geezer," though her tone is teasing, there's a hint of warning in it. She starts blending out the black contour near his jaw. Mick is obediently quiet as she does his cheeks, his mouth opening as she begins applying his eyeshadow without needing to be prompted.

"To stake all your happiness on one person, and have it be our idiot drummer of all people, is fuckin' stupid." 

They let the statement hang in the silence; Mick's eyes are still closed, but Lola's paused in her movements.

"I don't think you're stupid," he adds gently, and Lola leans back, sitting back against the mirror, her ankles crossed and makeup still in hand. She makes a half-amused, mostly disbelieving sound, and Mick, as a show of good humour, smiles a little, "I don't think you're  _that_ stupid." He amends, which gets Lola to laugh.

"You're an asshole," it's fond, as is the smile on her face. But then her expression, her shoulders, and the moment, drop. Moving off the counter top, she gestures for Mick to close his eyes again so she could finish, and her expression is hard. "But I don't know what you mean; sure I'm loyal to the band, but Tommy's happily engaged, we haven't -"

"Oh girlie, I'm sick of your bullshit, you know?" He finally snaps, "you're not loyal, you're just selfish; I've seen it happen with Vince, I've seen it happen with Tommy, and if Nikki ever falls in love, I'm sure you'll get yourself a hattrick, girlie." It's more honest, more  _spiteful_ than he intends it to be, and Lola's paused with the brush pressing against his closed eyelid. But he won't apologise.

The words sting so much worse than she's willing to let on. 

There's so many things she wants to tell him, to scream at him, to throw, instead, what she says is;

"It's not fucking selfish to want to protect the people we love." It comes as a hiss, and the brush is moved from his eye. He hears her throws it down to the counter, hears her step away, but doesn't hear her leave. His eyes open, and she's a few feet away, haloed by the shitty, florescent bulb above; she's got her arms crossed, scowling at him. "Roxie is  _using_ him."

"Says who-"

"Says fucking  _everyone_ ; says the fact that she fucked Nikki while she  _knew_ Tommy's parents were in town, says the fact that she's always  _demanding_ and  _demanding_ and  _demanding_ and even fucking  _Vince_ is sick of her, says the fact that  _Tommy still loves me-_ " and her eyes go wide, like she hadn't quite meant to let that slip, but it's out there nonetheless, and Mick sees the way her hands shake before she folds her arms again, defiant and  _furious_. "Go be someone else's consciousness,  _Jiminy-Cricket_ -acting  _prick_." 

It's like several consecutive gut punches as everything she's saying, everything she's  _implying_ dawns on him, but she just seems to get more riled up in his silence. He'd never thought of her as someone who'd be a fan of Disney, in any capacity; the idea that Lola, who he'd always known as  _young_ , was also once actually small, fragile, and a fan of cartoons? It's almost painful to think.

"I may have made myself judge, jury, and executioner, but I will  _never_ stand in the way of what makes them  _truly_ happy," she spits, leaning over to look Mick in the eyes, "and if this band breaks up because of me, it's  _not_ because I fucked over one of my boys," she sneered, "it's because I gouged your fucking eyes out."

So now she's not on speaking terms with Mick, which Nikki thinks is hilarious, Doc thinks is a pain, and Vince and Tommy are pretty ambivalent about. 

Roxie doesn't care; the sweet mask she'd been wearing since meeting his parents had been cracking as each day passed. She'd been dwelling, angry and mistrustful and insecure; she'd seen Tommy and Lola talking quietly together before a show, seen them share a smile, a laugh, a cigarette, and something about it made her skin crawl.

The problem was never that she and Lola were too different, the problem was that Roxie had always been aware that she and Lola, for all they hated each other, were different versions of the same person. They lie and steal and cheat their way through life, hot and sharp and mean, but Lola was here  _first._ If Roxie had been here first, she knows she would have been just as territorial; Lola's found herself in the middle of a  _very_ good thing, she doesn't do well with interlopers, as Roxie may be, but Roxie is anything if not ambitious. 

It had been going well enough, to keep Tommy to herself, Lola unwittingly helping her in the beginning, but now with Tommy's parents, with whatever's up with him and Lola, it had gotten under Roxie's skin. If she was being honest, she didn't exactly trust Tommy around other women, but he at least  _tried_ to be faithful, but Lola, she knew exactly how to play on Tommy's heartstrings, and absolutely would, if given half a chance.

So maybe sleeping with Nikki was deliberate, was  _spiteful_ , because Tommy had once drunkenly, and a little forlornly, made mention of how Lola ' _was head over heels for Nikki_ ' and that she sort of always has been. She saw the look in Lola's eyes when she came out of Nikki's dressing room, and in that one moment, it was worth it.

But it had ended up pushing Lola and Tommy back together, and Roxie wasn't  _stupid_.

She was just sick and tired of feeling like a second-rate version of Lola.

Like she was a consolidation prize, just a version that Tommy didn't have to share. But Tommy was rich and stupid, and Roxie was ambitious, and thinks that if Lola could get him to love her, then Roxie would be able to too.

But even his  _parents_ could see it, and they'd barely met! 

 _Why_ did Tommy have to call her his fiance? He should have at least made sure his parents  _liked_ her before telling them that she would be family. But  _fuck_ , it must run in the family; his mother's comment had stuck with her, had kept playing in her head.

_"Like Lola."_

"Your mom's a cunt." The words, deliberate and precise, come from Roxie one afternoon barely a week later, sore from being stuck on the tour bus all day, in her head about everything that's been going on, while Tommy had been waxing poetic to Nikki about a drum setup he'd seen in his dreams. 

He'd just turned to ask her for a pen to draw up his ideas after ignoring her for most of the day, and  _yeah_ she's got a pen, buried somewhere in the bottom of her bag, so she gets it for him, but tells him exactly what she's thinking, playing with the pen. Of course, to no surprise, it riles up Tommy.

"What? Why would you say that?" But his attention is finally on her, and she'd take a fight over being ignored.

"Because she is," Roxie tells him, deliberate, like talking to a child, "she's a  _cunt_."

"Quit it," Tommy warned, "give me the pen, alright?" After a beat, he makes a face when she doesn't even make a move to.

"I don't even know why you told them," Roxie continues, voice raising, catching the attention of the others, who had been trying their best not to watch the inevitable argument began to unfold. "It's not like  _she_ has  _anything_ to do with us getting married."

"Baby," Tommy tried to calm her down, turning back around, "it's  _sweet_ , it's  _tradition_." 

"Which tradition?" Roxie snarled, "The mandatory meeting of the  _cunt?!_ " Storming up to him, her lip curled in anger, she could feel the plastic pen in her iron grip. 

"Don't call her that again, you hear me?" Tommy demanded, voice low and dangerous, standing, matching her toe to toe and towering over her, eyes blazing with a fury, trying to put her in her place. 

After a moment, he seems satisfied that she won't try anything, and goes to sit back down, still crackling with an irritated energy, but Roxie seems to feed off of it, stabbing the pen into his back when he goes back to paying attention to anything but her.

"Here's your pen!" She spat, and the bus seems to light up around them. Tommy's flinching away, surprise and slight fear in his eyes, while Nikki looks on, concerned, but hazily high. 

"Ow! What the fuck is wrong with you?" He gasps, looking up at her, pain radiating across his shoulder and back.

"Fuck you!" Roxie spits, as she feels someone trying to catch her hands; spinning, she sees it's Lola, wearing a stony expression, watching with fury written all over her face, "fuck you too!" Roxie continues, shoving Lola hard, sending the girl stumbling back before she turns back to Tommy, "and fuck your mother!"

"That's it, this fucking bitch is out of here!" Tommy shouted, hollering for the driver to pull over. He drags Roxie down the aisle, with everyone watching in shock. Lola looks  _murderous_. "Get the fuck off my bus! Get the fuck out!"

Roxie won't back down, not here, not now; she shoves Tommy too, and it feels like a slap in the face when Lola catches him before he hits the table.

"You're such a spoiled little mama's boy," Roxie snarls, "'cause you wanna crawl back inside her cunt -"

Tommy punches her. 

There's regret on his face the moments after is happens, breathless, watching as she wipes the blood from her split lip, shock and hurt written all over her. It's like he can't even believe what he's done.

"I told you not to say that," is what comes out of his mouth, breathless, a little frantic, before racing to the back of the bus, escaping to the only place he could. Everyone else looks shocked, like they can't believe her, like they can't believe him, like this whole situation is  _fucked_. Except Lola. Stone cold and dead silent, she gives Roxie the single most withering look the other woman had ever received in her life. 

"Stop the bus." Lola orders, her gaze flicking to the others in turn. Her gaze lingers on Mick, who won't look at her. Finally, she looks back at Roxie. "Get your shit," her voice is still level, terrifyingly so, "and get the fuck off the bus."

"We are in the  _middle of nowhere_." Roxie tried, but there's a tremble in her voice, her hands shake a little, finally coming to terms with what had happened, what she and Tommy had both done.

"Get off this bus, or I will kill you."

With that, she turns, and all eyes are on her as she opens one of the cupboards, pulls out the medical kit, and follows Tommy to the back of the bus. She slams the sliding door closed.

Lola seems to be angry almost by default, loud voice, gnashing teeth, bloody knuckles, violent and ill-tempered, she was a fighter through and through. This is the first time  _any_ of them had seen her truly, and  _terrifyingly,_ furious. They'd always joked about her being the muscle of the group, but this is the first time they'd truly realised what that could mean; what she was willing to do for them.

"This is crazy, you know he's in love with her, right?" Roxie sat on one of the chairs by the front, tears pricking her eyes as the adrenaline starts to leave her system and her legs become too weak to keep her standing. Her words are a Hail Mary pass as she turns on Nikki, trying to drive a wedge before the bus pulled over and the good thing she had going comes to an abrupt end.

"We all are, dude," he admits easily, high as hell where everyone else is still on edge, but his smile is blurry, "if you figured that out, why are you still here?"

In the back, Tommy's got his head in his hands, sitting on one of the beds when Lola finds him. Looking up, fear and regret in his red-rimmed eyes, he heaves a shaky sigh seeing it was Lola. No words pass between them; she's still radiating that dark, protective energy, and Tommy's aghast at his own actions. She opens the medical kit, pauses, and reaches beneath one of the beds for a bottle of booze, setting it down in his lap. 

Her hands are gentle as she pulls the pen from his back, and he winces and grunts quietly in pain as she does. The bus stops, and there's the sound of Roxie's heels angrily stomping around the bus, and quiet, furious talking. Lola keeps working, unscrews the bottle where it still sits in Tommy's lap, and directs him to drink some. After he takes a swig, she lifts his shirt, prompts him to take it off, he does, and blood begins to trail from the wound down the smooth plane of his back. Their medical equipment is woefully understocked. 

Outside, Roxie is shouting. The engine is still running. 

Lola wipes away the blood as best she can, patting the wound with antiseptic ointment which makes Tommy swear under his breath. He's drunk a quarter of the bottle by the time she's dressing the wound, and the bus has started up again. Vince and Nikki are talking in the main cabin, but they don't sound particularly somber. 

"Don't say ' _I told you so'_." Tommy's voice is very small, speaking when he hears the lid of the medical kit close. Lola pauses.

Gently, slowly, she runs her fingertips down his spine. His head is still in his hands, and he hasn't made a move, but Lola sits behind him, her legs crossed, as close as she can, and she rests her forehead on his back, a quiet moment of solidarity. Now is not the time to be petty, or cruel.

"I'm sorry this is how it went down." And she means it, with her whole heart she means it. "I'm sorry you got stabbed." She wants to say  _I'm sorry I didn't stop her / didn't hold her back / didn't take the hit_ , but the words are stuck on her tongue. Tommy's breathing is shaky.

"I can't... can't believe I..." and he can't vocalise it, just looks down at his hands in abstract horror. Lola's quiet, reaching forward, she gently takes one of his hands in hers, lacing their fingers together. 

"She did...  _stab you_." Lola says flatly, and Tommy hums in quiet agreement; "you... she said some awful things about your mother; being protective sometimes means you'll do terrible things for the people you love," she murmurs, eyes closed. He gives her hand a squeeze, and heaves a sigh. They stay like that for a long while, and slowly, Lola feels the rise and fall of his chest become steadier with time. 


	25. you can rely on me (i will always let you down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Razzle and Lola talk about Lola’s past. Lola gets drugged and not in the fun way. Nikki and Lola have a heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: drugging (ketamine), swearing, homophobic slur (d)

Lola's never bothered much with Hanoi Rocks, despite the fact that they'd been opening for Motley this past tour; she liked them well enough, though she was almost certain she could probably snap Razzle in half if she wanted to. She was also half-convinced he'd enjoy it.  

But the point is, she doesn't fuck with Hanoi Rocks, or fuck Hanoi Rocks. Much. A little bit. Not enough to be noteworthy; Lola fucks everyone, it's not like one band, or a few members of one band, were anything to write home about.

And maybe she doesn't fuck with them because Vince is the one who spends a the most time with them, and Vince has Sharise now, and Tommy's been sort of clingy since everything happened with Roxie, not that Lola was complaining. She'd never complain; she's exactly where she wants to be, because when she's not wrapped up in Tommy, she's got Nikki with her. Nikki himself is not used to her having another favourite so openly, so honestly, he's not used to feeling like second best. They're all unhealthy, quietly obsessed with each other, and almost toxically insular.

Razzle's learned not to ask, he just enjoys Lola's company when he gets it; she pretends not to play favourites with her boys, but is under no such illusion regarding other bands. Despite this, he thinks she's rather funny, surprisingly hard working, and charming when she wants to be. It's easy to see how she'd endeared herself to all of them.

"How'd you get your start with them?" Razzle asks, smile bright and genuinely curious, sitting on the edge of the stage, watching Lola set up with the rest of the roadies. She's on her stomach, reaching under the drum risers for a lead that's almost out of reach, and pauses, turning to face the Drummer. Expression amused, she rested her chin on the stage and hummed for a moment.

"Forgot people don't know that anymore," she mused.

"Anymore?"

She pauses before turning her head back to the drum risers. Swiftly, she pulls the cord through and connects it to the one in her other hand before shoving back under. Razzle still watches, fascinated a little by her diligence; his first impressions of her had been  _so off base_.

"So before I was ' _Motley Crue's sort-of-manager-and-girlfriend_ '" she stood, making her way over to him, and he tried out some excuse, tried to play it off like that wasn't his immediate reaction to her, to the gossip that had been surrounding her. Instead of being irritated or angry, she smiled; "I had made quite a name for myself in LA - both for reputable reasons and...  _not so reputable_ reasons." Sitting beside him, she leaned back on her hands, looking at him. "You know The Skyhooks, right?"

"Of course, love, whadd'ya take me for?" He snorted, and Lola's smile turned a little proud.

"You know  _Bondage on the Boulevarde_?" She asked. Razzle nodded, and Lola just pointed to herself. After a beat, Razzle almost launched himself off the front of the stage he was laughing so hard.

"You're joking, you're bloody well joking!" Amusement sparkled in his eyes, and Lola shook her head, mirroring his smile with one of her own.

"Nope; they make a note of me looking for rope because I refused to be tied up with a microphone cord." She explained, half laughing, and Razzle raised his eyebrows at her. "I was a roadie before I was anything else."

"You roadied for the Skyhooks back in -?" and he tried to calculate, but Lola beat him to it.

"Well  _actually_ , I followed them after their gig at the Starwood back in 'seventy-seven, I think? I had actually been working for another band that night," she shifted a little, gaze drifting up as she tried to recall the memory, "I was fully intending to rob them blind - band stuff was expensive and it was easier for me to get that shit, uh, " _for cheap_ " than it was Nikki," she explained, but shrugged, "but I got caught and they were fucked up and they thought I was just another friskey groupie; what was I gonna do, correct them?"

"A roadie  _and_ a thief, Miss Gone -"

"Hey!" Lola protests, faux offended, before breaking out into a cheeky smile, "Roadie, thief,  _and whore;_ I'm a triple threat, Mister Dingley." She pokes at his chest, before smiling out at the empty audience, sitting on her hands.

"Threat's definitely the word for it," Razzle snickered, giving her bicep a quick squeeze, though there was nothing malicious in his tone. After a moment, he pets the inked on hair of her mermaid tattoo in a fond gesture that he's not sure she'd even noticed. "So you've known them a while? Roadied for them all this time?"

"Only started helping manage them because they wouldn't let Doc fire me."

"Loyal lads, though that almost goes without saying; how long have you all known each other?"

And he's watching her as she thinks, turns the question over in her mind, broken only by Nikki's shout -

"Lo!"

"Niks, how long have we known each other?" She counters with, laying back on the stage, looking over at him. Nikki thinks for a moment.

"How old were you when we met?"

"I don't have to answer that."

"And how old are you now?"

" _Rude_ ," Lola plays at being offended, sticking her nose up and pouting, raising her voice an octave to play up the ridiculousness of the situation; "didn't your mother ever teach you to never ask a lady-"

"She  _didn't,_ and you're  _barely_ a lady, Lo." Nikki snorts, but he's approaching them with a fond familiarity that Razzle doesn't seem him with around anyone else. He's already in costume, in his full platform boots, but his hair and face is untouched; it's probably why he'd been looking for her. There's a bottle of booze in his hand.

As he approaches, Lola seems to relax, grinning and almost giggling.

"Gimme some," she points at the bottle, and Nikki raises his eyebrows at her. Standing over her, he opens the bottle without breaking eye contact, and takes a mouthful. Razzle is frowning with confusion. "Do not spit it into my mouth like I'm a baby bird." Lola tells the bassist flatly, and Nikki raises his eyebrows at her, before he shrugs, opens his mouth, and lets the alcohol spill on Lola despite her protests; she doesn't sit up fast enough, and is covered with it, spluttering and wet and smelling like bourbon.

"Help me with my hair," Nikki tells her flatly after deliberately spitting the last little bit at her, wearing a grin that's all teeth, hearing Razzle's raucous laughter, and seeing Lola clamber to her feet.

"I'm gonna kill you so much, you rotten fucking cockroach bastard!" She hollers, chasing Nikki off the stage, though her hair's soaked up most of the bourbon. Nikki looks smug when he leaves his dressing room for the final sound check later on, and from what Razzle can see, Lola's strung out, laughing and stumbling as she's being pulled by Doc out of Nikki's room.

She may be a wildcard, but there's no-one else who can pull the band in line like she can.

From observations, it seems like; on his own, Tommy is the hardest to reign in, with Nikki being a close second, and when they're together, well  _The Terror Twins_ work hard for their nickname, and Doc alone stands no chance in Hell, and sometimes trying to get them to cooperate gets physical. Vince is more docile, but only in comparison, and Mick will do anything Doc or Lola tells him, as long as it gives him the moral high ground, any sense of superiority, or a nap.

Lola's the wild card in this situation; if she's being egged on by Nikki  _or_ Tommy, she'd walk barefoot through coals and then kick Doc for fun, if she's being egged on by  _both_ Nikki and Tommy, it inevitably ends up devious and sexual. If she's trying to get them to be responsible, well Tommy practically melts under her touch, he's not hard won, and Nikki won't admit it, but he's willing to concede on certain matters of business.  _Ahem_. " _Business_ ".

But the point is, in the right mood, Lola says  _jump_ , Motley Crue asks  _how high?_

And isn't that a sight to behold.

The only thing Lola loves even half as much as her boys is drugs, which she confined in Razzle while rolling up a hundred dollar bill, a mirror with lines of coke already cut, balancing on her knees. He's got an arm thrown over the back of the sofa, with Vince flirting loudly with a groupie on his other side. The others had left the dingy house party about half an hour in, but Vince had caught Lola's hand, asked her to stay in a soft, almost pleading voice, and she caved almost immediately.

As much as Lola was able to manipulate the band, it went both ways.

"Huh?" Razzle asked, pleasantly drunk and a little high, Lola looks up, eyes wide, pupils dilated.

"Nothing burns the bad shit away like coke," she says, surprisingly serious, and Razzle raises his eyebrows at her, watches her blink, "or acid, molly, I'm not a fan of weed, uh," she pauses, leaning forward, and inhaling two lines of coke in rapid succession. Watching with quiet amusement, when she lift her head, Razzle gently takes the mirror from her grip, and snorts the remaining line.

And she says she's fine. He looks at her smile and he can believe it. But when a woman she doesn't know offers her ' _something better_ ' for burning the bad shit away, she takes his hand, a hungry look in her eyes, and Razzle can't even begin to imagine what terrible shit she'd still be able to remember after all her years of partying.

Lola's led to the bathroom, asked to take off her jacket and sit on the edge of the tub, and she's more than willing to comply, watching but not quite comprehending as the woman fills a syringe with something from a little, medical bottle.

"You're not sticking shit in me," the words tumble from her lips, and part of her fights not to laugh, because that might be the first time she's ever said those words to anyone, "I don't inject shit-"

"I promise, I promise," she's slurring her words, swaying a little, which did not inspire confidence, "baby girl, you're gonna love it; burnin' shit away? K has got you covered." She assured, tapping the syringe and squirting out the bubble.

"I don't inject-"

"It's not as scary as it look, just makes you feel like you're  _floating_ ," the woman smiles, gaze unfocused, her red lipstick smeared, and Lola can feel the coke hitting her while her awareness is trying to sharpen. "What's got you so worried -?"

"Shooting up is a slippery fucking slope," Lola's jaw is set in a tight line, her mind flashing to bleary memory of Nikki and Tommy freaking out, finding Vince on the bathroom floor with a needle in his arm.

"Oh yeah," the girl snorted, stepping into Lola's space, "Ketamine's a slippery slope alright." She rolled her eyes, tone nothing but sarcastic as she reached out with shaking hands to wipe white, powdery residue off her nose. "Listen, if you don't want any, tell me right now, just say ' _I don't want any_ '," her fingers moves from Lola's cheek to gently graze down her arm, pausing to press against the soft skin of her inner arm, near her elbow. Goosebumps began to rise on Lola's arm.

"Why are you just offering me this shit?" Lola asked, voice surprisingly hesitant and raspy.

"Because you walked into my house with Vince fucking Neil," the girl answered with a smile, "that alone made me think you were someone I could  _actually_ party with."

Swallowing hard, Lola averted her gaze, taking the needle from the woman.

"Your hands are shaking," Lola tells her, and the woman laughs.

"So are yours?"

"All of me is always shaking; my vibrations match up," Lola mused, looking at her inner arm while the girl hummed in amusement, "all of it?"

"If you're up for it."

Lola hesitates, arm out, pulse beating quickly in her ears. The needle hesitates over her skin before she steels her resolve and breaks her skin. She can feel the cool liquid as it enters her bloodstream, which is disconcerting enough, but when she's finished injecting, she takes out the needle, hands it back, and closes her eyes tightly, the heel of her hand applying pressure to the injection site as she breathes deeply.

"Aw, baby's first shot." The woman coos, and okay, it comes across a little mean, but Lola's kind of into it. It kind of reminds her of Nikki, who would flip his fucking lid if he knew what she was doing. He had been the one to figure out that Vince was injecting coke, and the one who'd reacted strongest to the proof.

"Shut up," Lola growled, looking up to see the woman smirking at her. Lola stands abruptly, steps into the woman's space, and kisses her hard.

And the woman slaps her.

It's not that Lola's never been slapped before, it's just that the past thirty seconds have been somewhat of a rollercoaster, and the last thing she'd expected from the woman who'd pressured her into Ketamine and given her gentle touches, was a look of disgust.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" The woman hisses.

"So you weren't flirting with me -?" Lola asks, but her heart's beating fast enough that the drugs are already flooding her system; having already come into this being pretty drunk and high, she's in no shape to fight. The dose the woman had given her was  _definitely_ more than a first time user should have taken.

"I was trying to get you fucked up on K so I could fuck Vince Neil and that English dude without you getting in the way!" The girl spits, and Lola's body doesn't know how to respond. This is a new situation to her, completely foreign.

"He's got a -" Lola's voice is weak, the world is turning blurry at the edges of her vision, "he's got a fiance." Lola tries. "Baby." She adds.

"So? She's not here, is she?" The woman sneers, arms crossed. "Now get the fuck out of my house." And she calls Lola a word that has Lola's blood boiling; she might not be at peak fighting condition, but she still doesn't pull her punches. The woman's face hits the mirror, which shatters, and Lola quick to stumble from the room.

"We gotta, we gotta  _go,_ " Lola trips over the corner of the sofa, falling into Razzle, "please, Raz, we gotta, Vince, please -"

"Lo, are you okay?" Vince asks, and Lola's shaking, feels sick to her stomach. She scrambles from Razzle's lap into Vince's, taking his face in her hands.

"Vinny please,  _Lover Boy_ , please, anywhere but here, anywhere but here."

"What are you on, baby?" Vince asks, gentle, much more gentle than Razzle had expected.

"Shot up some K, and then-  _fuck_ \- knocked out the host -"

"You knocked out the host?" Vince laughed quietly, though he was helping Lola to her feet already. After a beat, however, his expression turned concerned, "you- you're joking, right Lo? You didn't - fuck, you know how the band got when they -"

"When they found you shooting up coke, I know," Lola was panicking,  _genuinely_ panicking, which Vince was pretty sure he'd never seen before, "Nikki's gonna be so fucking disappointed in me,  _fuck_." And in that moment, it all made sense.

Vince and Razzle accompany Lola back to the hotel they'd been staying at, before the two of them headed back out to find Nikki and Tommy; the night was still young after all.

When Nikki comes back, Lola's showered and is tucked up in bed, shivering and looking rather sickly, a glass of water on her bedside table. It's a surprisingly sweet sight, and her eyes shine in the light of the hall, letting him know she's still awake. Nikki's humming something, but doesn't say anything; Vince hadn't outed her completely, just said she'd had a bad trip. When he crawls into bed after stripping off his leathers, smelling like booze and sweat, Lola buries little further into the duvet.

"I don't think I'm gonna fuck groupies anymore." She says, barely loud enough for him to hear, but he does anyway, and grins up at the ceiling, his eyes closed.

"All mine," he says easily, though if he was any more sober, Lola's pretty sure he wouldn't have dared to say it out loud.

"And Tommy's." Lola corrects, and if Nikki were any more sober, she wouldn't have said it either.

"And Tommy's." Nikki nods, sagely, though he doesn't even sound a little jealous. The silence that hangs in the air is almost stifling Lola, nervous energy pooling in her stomach, tears welling in her eyes. She feels like she's going to be sick. Again.

"Nikki, I fucked up."

"'d you fuck Razz?" Nikki asks with a half laugh, and Lola cleared her throat. "You know that's not - I don't  _care_ who you fuck, Lols, I'm over that -"

"I shot up ketamine and then knocked out the girl who gave it to me 'cos she called me a bulldyke." Lola blurted, choking on her fears in the silence.

"What was it like?" Nikki asked, finally. Lola swallowed hard. "K, what was it like?"

"I was already fucked up, it just made me all slow and sick and blurry."

"You alright now?"

"No."

He's never seen her  _scared_ of being high before.

"It's like you always fuckin' said, alright, injecting shit is a slippery slope." There's a tremble in Lola's voice, and Nikki moves on instinct, shuffling over, throwing the blankets off of them and wrapping her up in his arms. Lola hugs him back, shivering and sniffling. "I'm sorry."

"Fuck, man, don't apologise to me," Nikki huffs, rubbing her back, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of her forehead. "You're an adult, you don't need to apologise to anyone."

"I just feel so fucking stupid, I'd do just about anything for a decent lay, God, I really just think with my cunt, don't I?" Lola grumbled, burying her face against Nikki's chest. Nikki just holds her a little tighter. "Niks, she drugged me, gave me a huge dose so she could sleep with Vince and I wouldn't get in the way." Lola admits, voice barely a whisper. "She used me."

"She could have killed you." Nikki's voice is suddenly rough, angry.

"I got them out of there, got Vince and Razz out before it hit too hard, but-"

"Lo, she could have  _killed you_ , you should have gone to fucking hospital."

Lola is silent at that, heart in her throat and tears in her eyes. Nikki's fingers map the familiar geography of her back, of the scarring there that never seems to get any better, despite all the years he's known her.

"I love you."

"I know, Nikki, I lo-"

"Lo, I can't let you fucking die without having you hear this; I don't care if you're in love with Tommy or whatever, if there's anyone I'm be happy to share you with, it's T-Bone, but I need you to know I've loved you since I met you, alright? Since you were sixteen and you trusted me enough to go out on the town with me, fuck, I can't believe you trusted me - I can't believe you  _still_ trust me," he paused, "but I'm so fucking glad you do. After all the shit we've been through, the fact that you still love me in any capacity, that's a damn miracle, you know?"

Lola's crying now, quietly, where she's curled up against Nikki, still feeling nauseous and blurry and shakey, and everything that's happened in the past seven years manages to blow through her mind, overwhelming her in an instant. 

"I ran away to LA with you, fucking hell, Nikki, of course I love you, of course I trust you, how can you not see that you've been my entire fucking world for  _years_?" She asks, and she can't look up, can't look him in the eyes, her hands flat on his back, her nails digging into his skin ever so slightly. "I'd follow you to Hell."

Nikki's gentle when he brings Lola's face up to look at him, and there's tear track on her cheeks, while her eyes are red and a little glassy.

"The world still a little blurry?" He asks with a half smile, and a Lola swallows hard.

"The only thing that's making sense is you." And it's cheesy, but it makes Nikki's heart beat just a little faster. He kisses Lola hard, pulling her flush against him, his hands in her hair and on her hip.

They don't fuck, Lola's still fragile from almost overdosing, but Nikki doesn't let her go. They fall asleep like that, wrapped up in one another, coming down from their respective highs, and when Nikki wakes with Lola in his arms, and realises that it hadn't been a dream, something in his chest eases.


	26. everything i wanted felt like a nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lola learns what happened to her dad because of Doc. She really does not take it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of death, emotional, psychological, and physical child abuse, heavy drinking and discussions of trauma

 

For the remainder of the tour, Lola’s more subdued than Doc thinks he’s ever seen her, and he wants, if nothing else, to reward her quiet nature, encourage it. So when they arrive home, when the dust has settled and everyone’s unwound from the stress of the tour, Doc starts making calls.

The first is to Lola.

“What did you say your dad’s name was again?” Is one of the first things he asks, and Lola freezes, frowning automatically at his direct and blunt tone.

“I didn’t. I don’t tell you shit about my dad, Doc,” Lola tries, but Doc sighs, trying again, gentler this time.

“You may not remember it, but at least twice since I’ve known you, you’ve gotten very high and told me how much you miss him,” and at least this time she doesn’t react with hostility, “Lola,” Doc’s voice is much more gentle this time, “I’m trying to find him for you, I know you don’t care for your mother, but I thought I could at least try and track down your dad." 

"That’s…” Lola swallows heavily, “that’s actually really nice.” She admits, and there’s that honesty that Doc is trying so hard to encourage in her. “Thank you.”

“I manage the band, I try and do what’s right by them, and occasionally that means you too,” is what he says, but his tone is surprisingly sweet, “now I just need his name, and maybe a bit about where you grew up, the last time you saw him incase your mom put in a missing person’s report.”

“Sounds like something she’d do,” Lola scoffs, before taking a deep breath, deliberating, “uh, Maleko; Maleko Fields. Last time I saw him, like, in person, was sixty-eight, June-ish, I think. Boston.” She’s surprisingly forthcoming, but Doc can hear her grimace, even over the phone. He doesn’t keep her long, let’s her go back to whatever dangerous or scandalous activity she has planned with Nikki and Tommy, and he hires someone to look into it.

There is absolutely no way in the world that he is prepared for what he finds out about the former Fields Family of Boston.

Maleko Fields, known to his friends and family as Leo, born and raised in Hawaii, moved to Massachusetts at the age of nineteen to open a business with his childhood best friend, and worked there for fifteen years. When the friend left for college, Leo had bought him out, renamed the shop with his friend’s blessing to  _Leo’s_ and became a staple establishment, favoured within his suburb. Irene was an accountant he’d hired to help with the buisness, though it wasn’t long before they started dating, and the two had married when Leo was 23. Two years later, their first and only daughter was born.

Keola ‘Katie’ Mavis Fields, the apple of her father’s eye, and unofficial mascot of 'Leo’s’ until its closure in 1968, was declared missing in 1977. Her missing person’s report comes with a photo of what is unmistakably a teenage Lola.

This is where the information gets darker; every newspaper in the city, and many across the nation, report on the trial of Irene Fields. Assult on a family member which caused serious bodily harm. Testimonies of family and friends who speak to Irene’s tenuous grip on reality and her possessive, obsessive control over her daughter, health professionals confirming her delusions and issues with aggression that had manifested due to trauma. Countless pictures of burn marks that were now all too familiar to Doc, and so many photos of a much younger Lola, in crisp button-up shirts done up too tight over bandages. Irene recieves a six month sentence at a mental hospital, and Lola is placed into the care of a group home when none of her family can provide her adequate care.

All because Leo had died when Lola was nine.

Irene had never been able to process his death, instead, when asked to identify his body after he’d been in a terrible car accident, she’d refused to believe it was him. The trauma of seeing Leo so horribly disfigured had broken Irene, and she’d managed to convince herself that he’d simply run away, even after both his sister and father had confirmed it had been him.

Testimonies had revealed that she’d fed Lola this delusion, blaming herself and the child for his disappearance when she couldn’t find an adequate reason for his 'departure’. Family was no longer able to visit or interact with Irene or Lola at Irene’s insistence;

“ _She thought we were trying to poison Katie against her_ ,” Leo’s sister had told the court in tears, “ _she thought we were hurting her when we tried to help her through her grief, but we wanted to help so she would stop blaming Katie; the things she had said to that girl were- oh God, they’d break Leo’s heart if he’d heard them_.”

When asked to describe some of the things she’d heard, Leo’s sister answers;

 _“Katie had been taking piano lessons for about two years before my brother died, and he was always loved how she played, even if it wasn’t great, but I mean, she was seven! But I attended a recital when Katie was fourteen, she’d played so, so beautifully, but I- I heard Irene - God, I’ll never forget it - 'why’d we even invite the family if you were going to embarrass yourself lile that’, she’d said, 'its a wonder your father didn’t come, he’d have thrown stones if he’d acctually accepted my invite’- he, please you have to believe me, my brother just loved music, and Katie, he’d never_  -!”

Lola, in court at the time, didn’t even seem to process the reality of the situation, judging by her firm belief she still held.

Her statement at the time had been simple:

“ _My mother had tried to keep me from leaving the house; she shoved me, which knocked over a candle, and when my bag caught fire, she held me so tight that I couldn’t escape it._ ” But she adds quickly, “ _but this isn’t dad’s fault_.” Of course there was more to it, but Doc was horrified enough that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to continue.

Less than three days before Irene’s release, Keola 'Katie’ Fields is reported missing by the group home she’d been staying at.

When Doc finally reads through all the gathered information, with Lola’s entire sordid childhood spread out, everything made a horrifying amount of sense.

Lola’s father was dead, and she didn’t even know it.

How the Hell was he meant to deal with this information?

He sits on it for a month, for a full month, and tries not to look at Lola with pity in his eyes. Tries.

“How’d you come up with Lola?” He asks one afternoon; the band is in the studio, writing new songs, developing new material, and Lola’s behind the sound desk, spinning idly in her chair. She only really wears singlets around the band, still self conscious about her scarring that he now probably knows too much about, and he can’t look at her directly, though her gaze has snapped to him.

“What?” Her voice is sharp, before she seems to realise, “oh, you found me -  _my dad?_ ”

And,  _yes and no_. But he can’t say that.

“I’m still looking into it,” is what Doc goes with, before he repeats the question, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. The sound engineer isn’t here, and the band can’t hear them. Lola still gives them a furvative glance anyways.

“It was a nickname dad gave me, I’m actually Hawaiian on his side, and even though I sort of went by a different nickname back then, that was more because dad was, you know, gone, and mum just called me Katie, and I didn’t exactly argue about it.” She shrugged.

“ _Keola_.” Doc turned the name over slowly, and Lola stopped dead, eyes wide as saucers. “Am I saying it right?” He asks, but gets no response. “It means ’ _life_ ’, so I’ve heard.”

“Whatever,” Lola hissed, and was quick to leave the room after that, joining the boys, taking a seat by the piano and idly tapping out a piece, which Doc found to be a curious response.

However its Nikki who Doc talked to about the situation; he knew Lola best, and for the longest, almost 7 years if the missing person’s report was to align with the time they ran away to LA together.

Nikki seems surprised that Doc wants to talk to him alone about Lola, but obliges anyways.

“Nikki, if you had found out something terrible had happened to, let’s say, a family member of someone you loved, how would you tell them?”

“Depends on the family member,” Nikki answered without a shred of hesitation, “this is still about Lola, right? You were looking for info on her dad, weren’t you?” And Doc feels like a deer in the headlights, because of course Lola would have told Nikki about it. “Be honest with her.”

Doc’s pretty sure that’s a one-way ticket to being put in hospital; Lola doesn’t exactly handle bad news well, and he’s not exactly on good terms with her right now.

“Lola, I don’t know how to tell you this,” is how he starts the conversation. They’re in his office less than a day later, and Lola looks antsy.

“Did something bad happen to my dad?” She asks, and  _fuck, fuck, fuck_ , of course Nikki told Lola about the previous day’s conversation. The manila envelope on Doc’s desk is practically at bursting"and he fans his fingers out over the cool cardboard, nervous and pitying energy coiled in his chest.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Doc feels like he’s stuck on a loop. How in thr fuck do you tell someone that all they know is a lie?

“Just tell me,” Lola tries to put on a brave face, but all Doc can see is the sixteen year old in a court room photo.

“Your father… passed.”

Silence. Lola swallows thickly.

“Oh.” Again, silence fills the room. Lola’s looking at the folder. It has her father’s name printed on it. “When? How?” She’s so quiet.

“Car accident.” There’s an unmistakable tremour in Doc’s voice. “Fifteen years ago.”

And he watches the wheels tick over in Lola’s mind, the dawning realisation, the dawning  _horror_.

“You’re an asshole and a dumbass for thinking I’ll believe that.” But her lip is trembling, “how fucking dare you lie to my fucking face about my father? Did he find out I’m a slut and a junkie and decide he wants nothing to do with me? Pay you to lie to me?” She stands so abruptly that her chair goes crashing to the ground. “God I can’t believe my fucking mother was right.” She hisses, and that hurts Doc to hear her say, knowing what he knows. “Give me that fucking folder.”

“I’m not lying.” Doc tells her, calm, which earn him a punch in the face. He topples back on his own chair, and Lola snatches up the folder.

“He’s here, isn’t he?” She waves the folder at him, filled to the brim with news clippings, fliers for  _Leo’s_ , funeral and wedding programs, and the full, printed transcript of Irene’s court hearings.

“Yes,” Doc wheezes, and satisfied with that answer, Lola storms out, folder in hand.

Lola arrives back at the home she shares with Nikki, crackling with anger and electricity. Later, Nikki comes back from drinks with Tommy, and finds Lola in the study, surrounded by proof of her worst fear.

“Lo?” Nikki’s voice is low, is actually concerned; Lola, from what he can see, is shaking. When she turns, she looks genuinely ill, ashy with puffy eyes and red nose. She’s holding a folded piece of paper.

“I’m seeing things; I need you to read this and tell me if I’m crazy,” she offers the paper to Nikki, who steps inside, “I’m just crazy, right? This doesn’t say nineteen sixty-eight.”

Its a funeral program for Maleko 'Leo’ Fields, born in 1934, died -

“Nineteen sixty-eight.” Nikki read, the reality of the situation suddenly hitting him.

“No.” Lola muttered, and snatched back the paper. “No, we’re both crazy.” And its heartbreaking to hear that be the option she favours.

“Lo-”

“Because if he died,” she sniffles loudly, trying to hide the way her voice is shaking, “when I was nine, that means-” and there’s a faint patter as Nikki hears her tears hit the paper, “that means everything…  _everything…_ ”

“Lola…”

She’s trying so desperately to come to terms with her own reality, but its tearing her apart.

“It was never my fault.”

And its like she can’t even believe it, sobbing now, voice so soft but rising quickly. The paper is crumpled in her fist as she gets to her feet, voice turning to a yell, a scream, as she cries and throws herself around the room.

“It was never my fault! It was never my fault! It was never my fault!” Picking up pieces of paper, she hollers. Angry and distraught in equal measure, she shoves the select pieces into Nikki’s confused, worried arms, looking at him through bitter, blood shot eyes.

“It means it was  _never_  my fault.”

And with that she shoves past him, leaving him shocked, and by the time he hears her angry scream from the kitchen, he’s started to look at what he’d actually been holding.

The transcript of testimonies from family members who knew about what was happening Lola, but who had, to Lola’s knowledge, never tried to help. Photos of Lola’s burn scars while they were still fresh. The statement of the coroner who’d asked Irene to identify Leo’s body, noting her refusal to acknowledge the truth of the matter.

Downstairs, there’s the smash of a bottle.

And Nikki’s reading the rest of the scattered documents. All of Lola’s history.

Every few minutes, there’s another smash.

By the time he’s done, he finds Lola in the living room, feet covered in cuts from shattered glass, almost catatonic with coke dusted around her nose.

“Lo!”

“I can be - fuck -” she slurred heavily, “whoever th’ fuck I wanna be’ 'cos da’s not gonna be 'round to give a shit,” she snapped, “he never was.” It had only been fourty-five minutes since Nikki had been home, and judging by both her state, and the kitchen, she’d drunk almost two bottles of JD, and he wasn’t even going to begin to guess at how much coke she’d had, only that had been a lot. Never in all the years he’d known her had Nikki seen Lola this fucked up this quickly. Oh, he  _knew_  Lola could handle this much liquor, but never in this short amount of time.

Sitting bolt upright, she looks around wildly, as if searching for answers Nikki can’t even fathom, before she can even say anything, she’s crashing back down, heaving and writhing. Nikki’s quick to turn her on her side, so she doesn’t choke when she throws up, and her voice is raw between bouts of illness that Nikki can’t quite catch what she’s saying. He gets her a glass of water and calls 911.

“I need - I need - I need -” she keeps stumbling over her words,voice raspy and hands shaking.

“You’re going to hospital,” Nikki told her, and Lola gave him a weak shove, expression contorted with anger.

“Fuck you,” she growls, “'need go Boston -”

“You need to go to  _hospital,_ you look like shit -”

“ _No!_  I need to go Boston! I’m gonna kill Irene!”

Lola’s unresponsive by the time the ambulance arrives, having not even moved from the sofa despite her best efforts. Nikki’s got his head in his hands in the waiting room, feeling nothing but nauseous as they pump her stomach and put her under anesthetic to remove the glass from her feet. When she wakes, she’s crying and screaming, but he’s by her side.

“I just want… I just want…” And she can’t even say it, weak and sore,and Nikki thinks he should call the band, call Doc, call someone else, but he cant leave her side. “All I wanted was him to come back, tell me it wasn’t my fault, and it would be okay; everything that had happened, it wouldn’t have been right, but it would have been okay.”

Nikki takes her hand.

“Nikki, just tell me I’m dreaming, please, tell me if I work hard enough he’ll come back.” Lola’s all but begging, and Nikki’s prettt sure he’s nevet felt moved like this for anothet person before; it fucking hurts. He hates seeing her like this.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Lo, you don’t deserve-”

“I don’t deserve half the shit I’ve been through!” Lola cries, before crumbling, curling in on herself as best she could with all the medical equipment attached to her. “If you’re not gonna lie, then at least make me believe its not my fucking fault. I didn’t drive him away. It was never my fault.”

Nikki pets her hair gently, his hands trembling.

“Lola, it was never your fault.”


	27. forgive me my sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lola decides to confront her mother. Nikki’s on board, but he’s not allowed to go, so lola and manages to convince tommy to come along, but it just does not go well At All.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: So Many: nsfw, mentions of psychological and physical abuse and arson and murder, emotional manipulation, so much angst

“I’m not a child!”

“All of you are children to me.”

Since leaving hospital barely a week ago, Lola’s has not been sober for a single minute, has landed back in hospital, this time with a broken wrist from punching a hole in the wall, and has been unofficially put under house arrest for Doc, who has hired literal security guards to keep her confined to her house. The band spends time with her, but she’s too overwhelmingly angry to be any good company, and Mick’s only around because he sort of pities her now that they all know the full story.

For the record, Lola doesn’t care who knows the story; if she could, she’d hire a sky writer to tell the world about the shit her mother put her through, the lies she’d told, the blame she’d put on Lola’s young shoulders. But the pity  _stings_.

So she yells, taunts him and throws things, actively tries to burn that bridge as she’s standing on it. For the first day, Mick tries, God knows he tries, but after hanging up the phone in the middle of Lola book a flight to Boston for the third time, he snaps.

In the middle of her kitchen, he turns on her, done with pity, he scowls, fingers still holding down the hook switch, phone having gone dead in her white-knuckled grip.

“And what exactly do you plan on doing in Boston? Taking your goddamn pound of flesh? Getting revenge seven years after the fact?” He shoves her, looking to get a rise, to get honest answers, but surprisingly, Lola doesn’t fight back.

“I’m gonna burn her fucking house down,” she snarls, and for thr barest moment, Mick feels genuine worry; he’s never heard her so sure of anything before in all the time he’s known her.

“You’re gonna burn her house down?” Mick asks by way of quiet confirmation, and Lola, no longer shouting or throwing things or lashing out, in a moment of terrifying stillness and clarity, nods.

“It won’t go how you want or expect, girlie,” his voice turns, and there it is again;  _pity_. Lola slams the phone back into its place so fast Mick barely has time to move his fingers before they’re crushed.

“I want her to say sorry, to say my father’s dead  _and has been for year_ s,” she paused, raised a challenging eyebrow and crossed her arms, “and then I’m going to burn her fucking house to the ground.”

“You’re not in your right mind.”

“Yeah? So? At least you know why now.”

Mick sighs, sags, the fight leaving him as he starts to feel like the eight years age difference between them becomes more like a lifetime.

“So you’re gonna go to Boston, high and drunk -  _because when are you not?_  - and set fire to your mother’s house for revenge?” He paused, leaning back on the counter, watching as she makes her way to the refrigerator. “You’re- girlie, you’re justified in your anger, I get it okay? I get shitty childhoods -”

“Get out of my house, you bitter fucking fossil; go tell someone else about how shitty your childhood was because honestly, I don’t fucking care.” Lola tells him through gritted teeth, staring him down. Mick’s mouth snaps closed, and he heaves a sigh.

“Don’t go to Boston.” He’s almost pleading now.

“I said  _get out of my house_.”

Nikki’s not due to be home until the evening, he and Tommy are in the studio working on the rhythm section for a new song, so Lola formulates a plan.

“Doc,” when she calls him, she puts on a voice that’s as teary and remorseful as she can manage, makes herself sound young and sweet. She’s well aware that Doc is riddled with guilt over her situation, feels responsible since he wad the one who has the information tracked down to begin with, was the one who told her about her father. She wasn’t above using his guilt against him.

She she cries and sniffles and tells him that all she wants is to see her father’s final resting place, which isn’t necessarily a lie, its just not the whole truth. His heart softens against her house arrest when she sniffles and lies through her teeth and tells him she’ll be on her best behaviour.

“Of course, Miss Gone,” Doc agrees easily, though he stipulates that she needed to take Tommy. It was a tactical move on his part; for all that he knew he was enabling Lola, he also knew that she and Nikki could be far more dangerous, each feeding into the other’s spiteful nature, while Tommy, on his own, went a ways to keeping Lola level, well as much as he could.

And Tommy could drive.

“Where are you going?” When Nikki comes back home, Lola’s sitting on the sofa, drinking whiskey on the rocks, looking the calmest she had in days. Beside her sits a backpack.

“Gonna kill my mom.” Lola tells him easily, eyes not straying from the television, which was play a fluff piece on rescue dogs. She’s neither screaming, nor crying, nor actively trying to OD in their living room, and Nikki knows he’d be stupid not to lean into it, especially when he’s quietly been wanting revenge on Lola’s mother for years now for all the shit she’d put Lo through.

“What do I need to bring?” He doesn’t even hesitate, and Lola’s smile turns sharp and amused. Finally she looks away, something appreciative in her gaze when she looks at him.

“Doc says I’m not allowed to bring you -”

“Fuck Doc!”

“He’s not into me,” at least this gets Nikki to laugh as he sits beside her, pulling her close. “He’s making me bring Tommy.”

“They don’t know why you’re really going, do they?” Nikki snorts, and Lola’s answering, affirming laugh, is dark.

“Please, please Doc,” she sniffled, voice snapping to a mocking immitaion of her earlier phonecall with the manager, voice faux sweet and helpless, “I just wanna see his final resting place, he’s my  _dad,_ I just-  _please_  I need closure.” Her laughter, when she snaps out of the ruse, is mean and triumphant and Nikki wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t miss the bitter and manipulative streak she’d had in her youth.

“Of course  _Tommy_ knows how to say no to you when you wanna go off the rails,” Nikki snickers sarcastically as his hand finds its way beneath her shirt, nails dragging down her chest. Arching sharply, Lola gasps, turns a smile on him that’s all teeth and pupils blown wide.

Part of him knows its unhealthy to encourage her like this, but part of it feels like a form of catharsis for him too.

“I’m gonna burn her house to the ground,” Lola’s voice is a growl, all enticing in ways that that statement absolutely shouldn’t be, but the idea of Lola silhouetted against a house fire that she’d started -  _fuck._

There’s not even a moment to breathe, to process, before she’s straddling him, knowing exactly what her words were doing to him.

“You sick fuck,” Lola’s grinning as she palms his half-hard cock through his jeans, “you get off to the idea of me setting fires?”

“Fire, revenge,  _you;_ you tell me you’re gonna rob that bitch at gunpoint first and I won’t last much longer,” Nikki grins, and when Lola laughs, he brings her in to kiss her, raking his nails down her back, the physical reminder of her childhood. Lola’s eyes light up at the touch, and she’s lighting fast, her hands in his hair, pulling sharply. Then, her teeth on his neck, his collar, his shoulder, hands shaking and tugging at clothes.

They fuck right on the sofa, biting hard enough to bruise, to bleed, the first time Lola’s fucked anyone since she’d recieved all the news. She’s intense, ferocious, pins Nikki and rides him while she leaves grazes down his sides, but comes on her back, hands tied above her head, screaming his name, his teeth on her collar hard enough that he tastes blood, her hands pulling his hair.

When she comes down, Nikki sees the way her eyes are misting over as she stares at the ceiling.

“Lo?”

“Yeah?” She turns to look at him with a genuinely affectionate smile that he hadn’t been expecting. Whatever he was going to ask, going to say, it leaves him, doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

“Wish I could be there,” he tells her, and Lola actually bites her lip, looks overhis naked, bruised body, and grins.

“I wish you could too, if this is how you get over the mere thought of it.”

Nikki is the first to stand, brings her bandaids and cream for her collar, and a drink for the both of them as they wait for Tommy to come pick her up. He’s not long, but Lola dresses herself before the doorbell is rung, and Nikki grins at the idea that if they had gone for round two, Tommy probably would have been able to hear them practically tearing each other apart.

“Give that bitch hell,” Nikki grins, planting a kiss on Lola’s lips as she picks up her backpack, “and call me for bail money; those other fuckers wouldn’t get it.” He grins.

“Fuck, I love you.” Lola laugh appreciatively, and its the most genuine smile he’s seen on her in a long while.

But Lola knows that Tommy probably won’t be so easily convinced; however, Tommy’s always been weak for her, and Lola’s always known exactly how to push his buttons.

They fly that night, first class, first flight to Boston that Doc could book, and Lola does an incredible job pretending that she’s  _not_  absolutely hammered at all times. Getting there doesn’t matter, she doesn’t mind Tommy’s hand in hers as they go through security, curling up by him in first class, letting him choose the accommodation.

“What’s the plan?” Tommy asks, on his side, facing Lola, who lies on her back, staring up at the roof. She’s fidgetting, being avoidant, and Tommy’s voice turns gentle and a little needy, “please Lols?”

“I’m not here for my dad,” and she makes it sound like a nervous admission, like she’s letting him in on some terrible, which okay, technically she is, but she’s putting on a show she knows he’ll be more receptive to. “I’m here for… I know its extreme, okay, I know, but after everything she’s put me through… Tommy, I just… I’m gonna kill her,” Lola tells him with a sniffle, glad Tommy can’t pick up on the insincerity in her sob story routine. It’s this exact moment that Tommy’s pretty sure this is the worst thing Lola’s ever roped him into in his entire life. He’s never seen Lola mad enough to kill before; he’s never been  _actively_ scared of what she might do, but here they are.

“Probably… that’s probably not the best move, Lols,” he tries, being as gentle as he can.

“You and Nikki put out cigarettes on yourselves,” Lola adds a sniffle for effect, “and set your clothes on fire for kicks, but you can’t even begin to fathom what it’s like to be held down and set alight by the person who was meant to  _love you_ , who you loved because you didn’t know anything else, anything better, even though she blamed you for the death of the person you both loved dearly,” the words spill from her like a torrential downpour, having been held inside for so long she physically couldn’t keep them back anymore, and the act became less of an act as she poured forth the truth she hadn’t known she’d been keeping inside, “ _you_ , Tommy, lived in a white picket haven; your parents, who love you, love me, love fucking Nikki, who hit on your mother  _in front of your father_ , you couldn’t even  _for a second_ imagine that they’d ever hate you.” Tommy keeps his mouth shut, doesn’t even begin to know what to say, but Lola’s not done, now actually, and honestly, crying, “I doubted it for so long because of what Irene told me, but finally,  _fucking finally_ , I can start believing my memories of him are true, that all my father cared about was my happiness, but I’m gonna level with you dude, for the seven and a half fucking years since he left, right up until I met Nikki, I wasn’t. From nine to sixteen I was a miserable wreck, convinced that my ungrateful behaviour had broken the kindest person I knew, driven away the only person who seemed to care about me, my own fucking father, so excuse me,  _Tommy_ , if I feel like murdering the woman who ground my self worth into the dust and literally  _tortured_  me.” Lola flipped angrily to her side, away from Tommy, fluffing her pillow angrily. “I should have brought Nikki.”

Its a low move, she’s never directly compared any of them, or made preference of one over the other. Sure they’d made assumptions, but Lola had always been quick to dispell accusations of favouritism. Showing of the scars on her back only added insult to injury now, and when she felt him gently rest his palm flat on her back, she knew she’d one.

“I think I get it,” Tommy finally agrees, though he still hesitates, “are you- are you really gonna kill her?”

“I’m gonna set her house on fire.”

Its easier for Tommy to swallow than murder, and he shuts up for the rest of the night. He’s quiet the next day, distant, and they get breakfast at a diner and he won’t even look at her.

“Tommy,” her voice is gentle over her blueberry pancakes, “ _baby_  -”

“Why’d you lie to me? About why we’re here?” He snaps it, and Lola sits back, eyebrows raised, mouth agape.

“I told you last night -”

“No, I know that, why didn’t you tell me straight up?”

Lola splutters, tries to give him some half-assed apology, some line about Doc, but Tommy just rolls his eyes, crosses his arms.

“Its like you get off on manipulating me.”

“Why would you even -?!” Lola tries, but Tommy’s clearly spent more time thinking about it than she’d given him credit for.

“Whatever, this clearly isn’t the fucking time or place; I won’t leave and I won’t fuckin’ snitch, because I don’t do that, but you know, I know you’d only try and pit me against Nikki if you needed something really fucking awful from me, and,” he gestures widely, expression unamused, “here we are.”

He leaves her in the diner, tells her to get whatever she needs ready during the day, because at ten at night, he’s picking her up, and they’re going to Lola’s mom’s house.

“That’s  _not_  the plan,” Lola tries to tell him as he’s leaving, but Tommy turns, slams his hands against the table.

“It  _is_  the plan if you want a getaway driver.” And he’s not going to stay to argue.

Lola gets;

\- a flare gun

\- drunk

And when Tommy picks her up, he can feel how worked up she is, but can see her holding it all in. She doesn’t talk to him except to give directions, map in hand, flare gun in her lap.

“How’d you find her address?” Tommy finally breaks his own silence, voice tight.

“Doc’s folder.” Is the only information she gives, jaw set in a firm line.

They pull up at ten thirty, with Lola triple-checking the gun. Silently, the sit in the car for almost a full minute as Lola looks at the white picket fence, at the light on in the upstairs window.

“Don’t do this,” Tommy muttered, and Lola swallows hard.

“If you don’t want to be here,  _leave._ ” She tells him flatly'and opens the door. Tommy stays in the car.

Lola’s banging on the door loud enough that its sure to wake the whole neighborhood, hollering, damnding Irene come out and face her.

“Get off my property; I’m calling the police,” comes a timid voice from the other side of the door.

“Irene I know that’s you, you fucking coward!” Lola slams her fist into the door again and again, her other hand shaking where she’s gripping the flare gun like a lifeline.

“Who the heck are you? What do you want?” To Lola’s surprise, there’s a second voice, deep and masculine, but clearly concerned. Lola stops, and her expression twist from surprised to  _furious._

“Who the heck am I? Who the  _hell_  are  _you_?! I’m her fucking daughter is who I am!”

This is met with silence as Lola’s words hang heavy in the air. Slowly, so slowly its almost glacial, the door opens, and Tommy waits with wide eyes and baited breath. Behind the door stands a broad shouldered, clean faced man, holding a baseball bat as he pulls the door open.

And then, behind him, there’s Irene; gentle-eyed and portly, with crows feet and frown lines. Shorter than Lola, there’s something about the set of her mouth that’s familiar, the shape of her eyes, the dead straightness of her black hair; she and Lola look like they’re related, but the parental resemblance isn’t there like it is with Lola’s father. 

It’s a deer in the headlights reaction, seeing her daughter, seeing the ghost of her husband, and she looks half ready to scream.

“Kaitie, I thought you were dead." 

And even Tommy hears it where Lola’s left her window open. He’s hand his head resting against the steering wheel, but when he turns, he sees Lola swaying on the spot, frozen.

"Katie?” Irene tries again, emboldened by Lola’s unmoving state, moving past the man in the doorway.

“That’s not my name,” Lola stumbles back the moment Irene, in her soft, lilac dressing gown, comes into view, “that was never my name you crazy fucking bitch.”

“Watch your language,” the man in the doorway responds automatically, tightening his grip on his baseball bat.

“What are you gonna do? Fucking beat me to death?” And Lola laughs, loud, angry, and delirious, “you know she tormented me for seven years and set me on fire, right? Who even the fuck are you?”

“Katie -”

Lola’s arm raises, flare gun in hand, leveled at Irene’s chest.

“Call me Katie one more time, I dare you.” And she’s crying, her voice is thick with tears, her hand is shaking. Everything about her is shaking.

“Please do not point a gun at my wife,” the man says carefully, and so Lola turns it on him.

“Its a flare gun.”

“Its still a gun.”

“You married a psychopath,” Lola spat, “a violent, manipulative, delusional bitch.”

“That was  _seven years ago_ ,” Irene’s voice is gentle, “Keola, please, please, put down the gun, I’ve missed you, I’m sorry, I just-”

“ _You can’t just apologise_ ,” Lola sobbed, dropping her arm, and the gun along with it, shaking like a leaf, “you can’t erase the years of abuse with an apology! You can’t pretend I’m dead just to play happy families!” She turned on the man now, “do you even know what she did?”

“I was her nurse on the ward -”

“ _And you married her_?!” Lola shouted, anger and disbelief loud enough for the whole street to hear. A light switches on upstairs. Tommy can spot stars stuck to the ceiling through window.  _Fuck._

“When properly medicated, she’s a wonderfully kind and loving person -”

“Shut the fuck up. Shut up right now.” Lola drops the gun, and it clatters to the ground as she angrily rubs at her eyes.

“Mom, what’s happening?” A voice asks from just beyond the door, and Lola freezes.

“Nothing, Milo,” Irene bends reflexively as she turns, soft smile gracing her face, “just a lost soul needing a little help. Go back to bed.”

Lola feels like she’s going to throw up. Tommy can’t sit by any longer, and is bounding from the car, sliding across the hood to join Lola, his arm around her.

“With all due respect, which is  _fucking none_ ,” Tommy wraps his arms around Lola, looking unflinchingly into Irene’s eyes, “what the fuck and how fucking dare you?”

 

“Language -” Irene’s husband tries fruitlessly, as Irene cuts in.

 

“And who the heck are you?”

“Someone who actually cares about your daughter, you spineless bitch.” Tommy snarls, and Lola takes refuge in him, overwhelmed and distraught, she presses her sobbing face to his chest. “You gonna set that one on fire too?” He snapped, gesturing to the half closed door where he presumed Milo had been standing. Both Irene and her husband looked horrified, aghast, all but shouting angry protests. “Then what made Lola special?!” And he tugs Lola’s shirt up at the back, reveals the thick and angry scarring that resided there, and finally Irene is brought to tears.

“ _Lola_?” She asks softly, and even her husband seems surprised by her change of demeanor. “Leo used to call her that.” She sniffles, and Tommy is absolutely floored. “Can I call you that? Lola?” She asks gently, and Lola’s head turns, expression furious.

“Only if you want me to burn down your fucking house.”

Irene nods, far less hostile than she had been earlier. Her husband looks lost.

“Keola… I’m sorry.” And it sounds honest, sounds genuine, and Lola, at least, has stopped crying so hard with her face against Tommy’s chest once more. “Sweetheart I’m so so sorry,” and her eyes are misting up, “but I’m so grateful for this miracle; never thought God would grant me the chance to make it up to you.”

Slowly, so slowly, Lola turns, absolute disgust,  _loathing_ , written all over her face.

“You can’t.” And she moves from Tommy’s arms, stalking towards the pair, who were regarding her with all new fear. “You will  _never_  be able to attone for the shit you put me through, you know that? You can play happy little fucking families  _forever_ knowing that I’m out there  _hating your guts_ and  _never forgiving you,_ be born again, worship a bullshit God who you think is just, and know that if Jesus died for the sins of humanity, then you’re absolutely  _going to hell_ , you cruel, inhumane woman.” Irene was crying at Lola’s words, though she didn’t seem close to slowing down. “Yeah, a lot can change in seven years, right? Seven years since you’ve seen me? That’s exactly how long you spent blaming and punishing me for my father’s death. It’s a  _long fucking time_.”

“I shouldn’t have -”

“No fucking shit!” Lola cried, disbelieving grin on her face as she throws her arms out to the sides. Finally, she turns on Irene’s husband; “if you care about your son, don’t die and leave her in charge.” With that, Lola turns, doesn’t watch her mother collapse in the doorway'sobbing and distraught. Tommy is silent as he follows Lola to the car.

Driving away, he’s not quite sure what to say, but as soon as they get back to the hotel, Lola bursts into tears, curling up in thr passenger seat. Tommy sits quietly, a war waging within him as he wanted to comfort her, despite how disgusted he was with how she’d treated him. Lola cries. Tommy grips the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. They don’t speak for the rest of the trip.

“I think we should take a break.” Tommy tells Lola when he drops her off at her house. She’s been subdued the entire trip since seeing Irene, drinking steadily but not heavily, not going anywhere or saying anything.

“I’m bad for you.” Lola agrees, voice cracking. “Worse than anything else.”

“Yeah, you are.” Tommy agrees. “And we all do some awful shit.” He adds. Lola swallows thickly.

“I know.” After a deep breath, she reaches for the handle of the door, “I am sorry, genuinely, for what it’s worth.” And she leaves. Nikki’s not home, she doesn’t care where he is, just sits in the shower, dissociating and crying in equal measure.

 _A violent, manipulative, delusional bitch._  That’s what she’d called Irene; they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and in Lola’s case, she’s sure its just plopped straight down.


End file.
